


Safehaven

by moffnat



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Endgame, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Racism, Slow Burn, Trials, War, here's a tribute to them!!, royai is my ride or die and has been since i came out the damn womb, uhh this goes through rebuilding ishval and the war trials aaaaaand some stuff!!!! it's a ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moffnat/pseuds/moffnat
Summary: "If Roy were a weaker man, or perhaps a merciful one, he’d have taken Riza back west and rebuilt her family farm years ago, fathered a few blonde-haired brats and called it a life well-lived. But Roy was not that man."A study in endgame potential. Encompasses Roy and Riza's journey from the end of the series to Roy becoming Führer, and everything in between.
Relationships: Chris "Madam Christmas" Mustang & Roy Mustang, Grumman & Riza Hawkeye, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 136
Kudos: 235





	1. Roundup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THINGS TO NOTE BEFORE READING:**   
> 
> 
> * Holy shit guys, I'm writing fic again. It's 2020. It's what we deserve.  
> 
> * This is how I feel things would progress between Roy and Riza in the canon setting. Everything here could be a direct result of the show/books, or so I feel.  
> 
> * This fic deals with PTSD, anxiety, depression, etc. You know how it is.  
> 
> * In the manga, Grumman is Riza's estranged grandfather. You bet we're keeping that shit.  
> 
> *  **Pay attention to the dates.** Sometimes I'll skip years in advance, so don't get lost!  
> 
> * I would normally have an update schedule, but since I've gotten a full-time job and a life, that isn't gonna happen. Just know that this fic is already 92% finished so I'll definitely be updating at a regular pace. Enjoy!

**20 SEPTEMBER, 1917  
CENTRAL, APARTMENT 218 **

Memories are gifts. That’s what Riza’s mother had said anyway, on her deathbed as the fever burned her from the inside. Riza never felt like her memories were particularly grand; if anything, they were crimson haunting things, things that followed her, clung to her, scratched her mind in the same spot until it bled. When Riza had transferred back to Central, she’d hoped to make better memories. Ones that could be gifts. Looking around her bedroom, all she saw was packed boxes and blank walls, fearful nights alone that tested her will. So much for that.

Hayate whined at her feet, his head cocked the side, worried for his master. Riza groaned and sat down on her bed, pushing away the box she’d just taped together, labeled ‘CLOTHES FOR ISHVAL’. It was a small box. “I should’ve packed weeks ago, boy. Then we could’ve relaxed today.” But there hadn’t been time. The six months since the Promised Day had been crammed with constant work, and each night when an exhausted Riza returned home, she crawled straight into bed. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. It was no shock to her that her life outside the military had fallen to disrepair.

“Do you think I’ll have time to go shopping tonight?” Riza asked Hayate, who’d jumped on the bed to lay at her side. The afternoon sun seeping through the window made his fur look reddish instead of jet black. “I was hoping to have a day to myself before we leave. I guess there’s always something more to do.”

The phone in her kitchen began to ring. Puzzled, Riza went to answer it, cradling the phone between her neck and shoulder. “This is Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

_“Helloooo, madame! This is your friendly neighborhood florist. Have you finally purchased a vase, by any chance?”_

Riza sighed. Of course. “No, Colonel. I haven’t had time.”

_“Well, that’s a shame. Some handsome suitor could’ve sent you a present for all your hard work.”_

“Perhaps this suitor should keep their eyes on their paperwork.”

 _“Eh. Fair enough.”_ Roy swiveled in his squeaky chair. His tone changed from light and playful back to his usual bass. _“How are you spending your last day off?”_

Riza leaned back against the empty kitchen counter. “I’ve been trying to finish packing. I thought I was done, but I’ve been so busy that I forgot about the no-uniform rule. I had to rearrange.” Why was she telling him this? Why was he asking? “Did you call to check in on me, sir?”

 _“No, not really. It’s just nice to hear from someone who isn’t working. With Operation Ishval so close, I’m chained to my desk for preparations.”_ Roy shuffled some papers around before clearing his throat. _“I’m actually calling to give you some good news for a change. Congratulations, Captain Hawkeye. You have a new rank.”_

Riza blinked. “A promotion?”

_“Yep. Straight from the Führer himself. He’s passing ‘em out before we head east, all because of our help on the Promised Day. Everyone involved got bumped up. Even Armstrong.”_

Riza took a seat at her small dining table. She’d been called Lieutenant for so long that Captain sounded foreign. Distant. “I shouldn’t have taken today off after all. I would’ve liked to see your face when you made senior rank, sir.”

_“Not half as good as you may think. Nothing will satisfy me ‘till I’m at the top, and no one knows that better than you.”_

Riza grinned.

_“Speaking of the Führer, though, he asked me to give you the new badges and straps for your uniform. The team is going to celebrate before we leave for Ishval. You should come along.”_

“Tonight?” asked Riza. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

 _“We deserve a few hours to relax. The address is 16 Scarlett Road, down the alley just before the street sign. I expect you there around eight, Captain.”_ Roy chuckled. _“You can consider that an order from Brigadier General Mustang.”_

Roy hung up before she could respond. Always one for drama.

Riza lowered the phone from her ear, sighing. She supposed a night at a bar wouldn’t be torture. There were laws against soldiers fraternizing outside the workplace — something Roy and Riza were well aware of — but it seemed Roy had been given clearance from Führer Grumman for some leisure time before they deployed. Figured. If it weren’t for his busy schedule, Riza was certain her grandfather would have joined them himself.

Roy’s call was well timed. Since Riza had been packing, she knew where all her civilian clothes were, and the distraction was welcome. Finding something to wear wasn’t an issue. The problem was the choice. Riza certainly wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but she felt like she could allow herself to dress nicer than usual. She didn’t know when she’d get another chance to let loose. Ishval may not be kind to her.

In the end, Riza decided on a simple white blouse tucked into a pleated skirt. She slipped her feet into short heels and found a pair of small pearl earrings to match. Subtle makeup completed what Riza considered a perfectly modest look, comfortable and composed. She pat Hayate on the head, grabbed her coat, and left her apartment after sunset.

The streets of Central were busier than Riza was used to. She imagined that many Amestrians felt relieved after the Promised Day and Bradley’s death, which encouraged them to spend more time outside the home. Especially young adults. Riza passed several large groups of friends laughing together in a café, at tables covered in drinks and half-eaten finger foods. Such joy wasn’t easy to come by for someone like her, but if anyone deserved happiness, it was the generation of the future. She was glad for them.

“Scarlett Street,” Riza muttered, approaching the right corner. She saw the small alley Roy had mentioned and turned as he’d instructed, but the mysterious surroundings weren’t familiar to her, nor did she see any bar. The alley was swallowed in darkness. She continued warily, trusting that Roy wouldn’t steer her wrong, until she came upon a wooden sign.

This couldn’t be right. Riza raised a brow, reading the sign on the building again and again. An escort service? She briefly entertained the idea that Roy had pulled a prank, but she recognized the name: Madame’s Chateau. Of all the years they’d been partners, Roy had never introduced any of his subordinates to the woman who raised him. Oddly enough, Riza’s heart pounded at the idea of meeting her.

There was nowhere to go but forward. Taking a breath, Riza opened the door, the chime of a bell alerting those inside.

The interior of the Madame’s establishment was all lush luxury. Red velvet loveseats, a 12-person bar, crystal chandeliers and suggestive paintings. The women were lavishly dressed, young and giggly and attentive. Either this place hadn’t been touched by the Promised Day, or Roy had generously helped it recover. Riza swallowed, uncomfortable.

The soft jazz from the radio quieted when Riza entered. Every woman in the room turned to her, making her blush. She didn’t see any of her comrades at the bar as the heavy door swung closed behind her. “Um…” Riza swallowed. “Hello.”

“Oh my god,” gasped one of the girls, a redhead cradling a fruity beer. She hopped off her stool and dashed over to Riza. “You’re Elizabeth, right? _The_ Elizabeth?”

“She’s here?” called another girl. “Ladies, come see! Elizabeth’s finally here!”

Riza stepped back against the closed door. She tried to stay amiable, but the sudden rush of gorgeous women around her was awkwardly intimidating. She clutched tight to her purse. “My name’s actually not Elizabeth,” said Riza. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“Nonsense! You’ve got the blonde hair and sweet brown eyes.” 

“You’re so pretty, just like he said!”

“That’s enough, girls.” A deep female voice commanded the women to step back. “Let her sit down at least.”

From the door behind the bar, a tall, burly woman appeared with a cigarette in her ring-encrusted hand. A rich fur coat donned her shoulders and her presence was commanding, but not threatening. She smirked at Riza. Something about her was familiar. “Have a seat and pick your poison, sweetheart.”

Riza hadn’t been called “sweetheart” in as long as she could remember. She tried to release the tension in her shoulders, stepping past the excitable girls that parted for her as instructed. She sat on a barstool in front of the madame. “Just beer is fine.”

“Dark or light?”

“Dark, please.” 

The woman took a cold beer from an ice shelf, the glow of the chandelier reflecting off her many rings. She filled an empty glass with whiskey for herself and passed the bottle to Riza. “You must be the Hawk’s Eye.”

Riza twisted off the cap from her beer. She still couldn’t find her friends among the patrons. “I wasn’t aware I was so popular.”

The madame chuckled. “Are you really surprised we know you? ‘Hawkeye’ isn’t exactly a common name.” She leaned on the counter, twirling the whiskey in her glass. “My nephew's told us all about you.”

“So you _are_ Chris Mustang,” said Riza, relieved. Her shoulders relaxed as she chided herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude on my way in. I wasn’t sure I was in the right place.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ve never been to a brothel before. Don’t look the type.” Chris extended her hand, which Riza politely shook. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.” Riza smiled before returning her hand to her bottle, taking a sip. “Your… employees. They called me by my codename.”

“You’re like a celebrity to some of my older girls,” Chris explained. “The ones Roy grew up with. They remember you all the way back from Roy’s apprentice days, when he’d send letters home talking all about Master Hawkeye and his pretty daughter from the town in the middle of nowhere.” Chris took a drag from her cigarette. “Roy always used codenames when talking about his team after Ishval. But my girls know who you are. Riza, Elizabeth, it’s all the same.”

Riza curled her hair behind her ear, trying to shrug off how flustered she felt. Roy had sent letters back then? What did he say? “They have an impressive memory.”

Chris was still smirking, like she knew something Riza didn’t. “The boys are in the back room playing cards, if you were looking for them. I just wanted to talk to you for a bit.”

Riza looked up from her bottle. “Can I ask why?”

“Haven’t gotten a single chance in all these years.” Chris reached for a nearby ashtray and crushed her dying cigarette. “You know, I’m good friends with your granddaddy. I remember when his little Elizabeth was born. You look just like her. Even though she ended up runnin’ off with that alchemist, Grumman kept his tabs. Helped me find old Hawkeye when Roy wanted to learn alchemy, just so he could get info on you. Did you know that?”

“No,” said Riza, astonished. “I always thought General Mustang came to us by chance, not recommendation.”

“Your granddaddy was desperate to know if you were doin’ okay out there in the country. My Roy and his letters were the key. It worked out.” Chris pointed at Riza, her stare gentle yet stern. “Both of you got people who care a whole lot about you. Don’t forget it goin’ into Ishval.” Her hand fell to the counter. “I know you and my nephew have gone through hell. Still, I’m grateful. The little twerp means a lot to me. I'm glad he has a strong woman lookin’ after him.”

Riza’s eyes softened. She knew tough love when she saw it; her father, troubled though he was, spoke of Riza in a similar way. So did her grandfather, apparently. “That’s kind praise,” Riza said, “but I’m not sure I deserve it. I’ve failed him more than once.”

Chris snorted. “That’s not the way I hear it.” She gulped down her whiskey in one go, sliding her glass to the side. “Look, kid. Just keep protecting him. Who knows what this next tour in Ishval will do to him, or you. Peace mission or not, it could get ugly out there. And cut the doubt. You’ve saved his life a dozen times, so I’d say you’re doing a damn fine job.” Chris straightened her back and waved her hand for Riza to follow. “Now come on. Don’t wanna leave your boys waitin’, do ya?”

Chris spoke firmly, but not falsely. Riza’s resolve could not waver in Ishval, nor could her faith in herself, or what little remained. She stood with her beer and smiled. “Thank you, Madame Christmas. I’ll keep your confidence in mind.”

As Riza followed Chris down the back hall, she wondered what Roy had told his aunt that made her so insightful.

“Roy-boy,” called the madame, knocking on one of the doors. “Your girl’s here.” She patted Riza on the arm and winked before walking away.

Riza was still watching Chris leave when the door opened. “Captain Hawkeye!” Falman exclaimed. “Hey, you came!”

“Falman,” greeted Riza with a chuckle. “I thought you’d returned to Briggs yesterday with General Armstrong.”

“Not yet. I got one more night in me to spend with you guys, for old time's sake.” He motioned for her to enter the room. “Come on in.”

Riza stepped over the threshold. Havoc, Breda, Fuery and Roy were sitting around a table of food and beer in a dimly lit room, caught up in an intense game of pinochle. Breda was winning; Riza knew that shit-eating grin. “Hey, Captain!” they cheered, lifting their drinks to her. Roy simply smiled, and Riza waved. “Let me deal you in.”

The six loyal officers spent hours locked in card games, jokes and memories of years gone by. They recalled old missions and first encounters, Havoc’s worst dates and the night Riza adopted Hayate. The infamous Warehouse Thirteen. She hadn’t planned on drinking, but three beers into the night left her feeling warm and comfortable despite the setting. When was the last time any of them had laughed so genuinely? Decades, it felt like. Centuries. Before any of them knew war and carnage.

Havoc, Breda, Fuery and Falman left shortly after midnight. Riza said goodbye to each of them, especially Falman, whom she gave a rare embrace. He wouldn’t be joining them in Ishval. She didn’t know when she’d see him again, but the two of them hoped it would be soon.

Given the late hour, Chris’s brothel was becoming more active with patrons who’d booked the night, and Riza was eager to leave. Roy escorted her out the door, but not before exchanging cheery goodbyes with his aunt and the women he called his sisters. Riza watched with mixed amusement as he kissed their cheeks and promised to write.

“Well,” said Roy, closing the door to the Chateau behind them. The night was pleasantly chilly. “You’ve met my aunt.”

“I did, sir,” Riza replied. “She’s an interesting woman.”

Roy laughed. “To say the least. She means well, though. I’ll always be grateful to her for raising me as well as she did, despite the circumstances.”

Riza wondered if she felt the same way about her father. Had he raised her well? Between all the work he forced her to endure and sleepless nights she suffered as a result, only to be rewarded with the occasional hug and a curse on her back, she was never sure.

“Here. Before I forget.” From his coat, Roy pulled a manila folder and offered it to Riza. “Your paperwork and new star.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Riza took the folder and opened it, just for a peek. She skimmed the formal documents stating her promotion and the line where Führer Grumman had signed his name. Next to his signature was a little note: _good job, kid._ Riza grinned.

“Did you walk here?” asked Roy as Riza buttoned her coat. “If I remember right, you don’t live too far away.”

“I don’t. Well, I didn’t.” Riza tucked the folder at her side. “I’m not sure I can say I live there anymore.”

“That’s true,” said Roy. “It’s hard to believe we’re going back to Eastern Command after all that’s happened.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “And a week from now…”

Ishval. Riza was just as nervous as Roy. Even in the spirit of rebuilding their nation, it would be torturous to return to the place where so much death was wrought. The subject of their nightmares. 

Roy started walking. “Let me take you home.”

Riza knew she could handle herself, but with the memories of the Promised Day still so close by, she didn’t want to be alone. Neither did he, it seemed.

Riza fell into a steady pace by Roy’s side, returning down the alley to Scarlett Street. They tried to distract themselves with conversation. Central Command’s repair is coming along nicely. Did you hear that Ling Yao was finally crowned? Hayate earned a medal for saving soldiers buried under rubble — that’s one loyal mutt you’ve got there. 

Still, no subject could block the past.

Near the end of their walk, standing just before Riza’s apartment building, Roy froze in his step. His tone was solemn. “Do you still dream about Ishval, Captain?”

Riza frowned. There was nothing around them but streetlights and the hum of distant cars, nothing that could breach the conversation and deflect. “Sometimes. I dream of their faces, mostly. You get a clear view through the scope.”

“I imagine so.” Roy turned his gaze to the empty street. “It seems all I do is think about Ishval lately.”

“We’ll be back there soon enough.”

“I guess. But I don’t think about Ishvalan customs or my studies or anything like that. It’s just… bodies.”

Riza didn’t know what to say. She lived with her own horrors and knew them well, well enough to know that they never left. She watched a moth flicker by a lamp post and flutter away.

“It’s got me thinking,” Roy added. “Do you remember your mother’s garden? The one behind the house.”

Riza turned to him, eyes wide. “Sir?”

“I try to think about it whenever I have nightmares about the war.” He looked to the distance almost longingly, as if he could see the fields near her childhood home rippling in the night breeze. “We used to read there. You always tended that garden so diligently. The flowers never bloomed late, and their scent was heavenly. It was a beautiful place because you made it beautiful. I guess that’s why I like it so much.”

Riza swallowed the lump in her throat. She watched what she could see of his face, his somber expression. Of course she remembered. How could he think otherwise?

“It was just a question,” said Roy with a shrug. “You should get some sleep. The train leaves for East City at noon, so don’t be late.”

“I — yes, sir. I won’t be.” Riza, confused, stayed still under the lamplight. Waited for Roy to speak his mind. He didn’t, and waved before walking away.

“Goodnight, Captain.” 

Riza clutched her folder to her chest. “Goodnight, General.”

Deep in thought, Riza pulled open the building’s main doors and climbed the stairs to her empty apartment. Her muddled focus led to distant, pleasant memories of honeysuckle shrubs and wisteria, budding tulips and distant fields of corn, white patterned butterflies and a creaky chair swing. A black-haired boy from her youth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've shipped this shit since 2002. finally a reward for my investment  
> riza entering a bar full of hot girls and getting flustered is Pure Bisexual Energy  
> also, all the chapter names and title come from different WWII operations :) i thought that was a neat idea considering roy's team is all named after weaponry.  
> i hope you guys are staying safe out there!!


	2. Moonlight Sonata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **soundtrack choice:**  
>  [[danny boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l_d6d-E_DwQ)]  
> 

****

**14 AUGUST, 1919  
** **ISHVAL, DALIHA REGION**

Unforgiving: such was the desert sun of Ishval. Roy had hoped not to feel such scorching heat again in his lifetime, but ambition demanded otherwise. Raising homes and buildings, purifying well water, wiring electricity, and cementing new roads were all under the direct supervision of Roy and his task force. While provisions from Havoc’s family store and donation banks eased minds, Ishval needed to improve her farms before she could become self-sufficient. Roy had spent the past two weeks with a number of Amestrian volunteers tilling fields for wheat, cotton, corn, peppers, melons, spinach and more. It wasn’t easy work under the harsh summer sun, but Roy was grateful to be allowed to help at all.

“General?” came a familiar voice. Roy shoved his spade in the dirt and sat down on a boulder beneath an olive tree. Riza approached him in the shade. Her sleeveless shirt, shorts and jaw-length hair must’ve kept her cool. She barely looked like she’d broken a sweat. “Are you tired, sir?”

“Yeah,” groaned Roy. “The damn heat. It’s crippling.”

“Pretty ironic for the Flame Alchemist to complain about heat.”

Roy pulled the towel from around his shoulders and wiped his brow. “I don’t know if I’m much of an alchemist right now. Not in this place.” The Ishvalans had prohibited Amestrian alchemy without the presence and permission of a monk. Roy complied without argument, but lately he felt like he was falling out of practice.

“Alchemist or no,” said Riza, “this heat is painful for everyone. It’s midday, sir. Most of us are taking breaks in the tents. You should join us for lunch.”

Roy rested his arms on the handle of the spade, looking up at the insistent captain. Sunlight worked wonders on her blonde hair. “I made a promise to the Ishvalans that I would help them rebuild. I don’t want them to think I’m being lazy, especially since their people’s lives gave me my sight back.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re still human, General. You need food and water. Havoc got another shipment from his parents’ shop about an hour ago. Surely there’s something there you could eat?”

Roy sighed. Riza was more stubborn than anyone he knew, and if she wanted him to eat, he would eat. “Can’t say no to you,” he relented. He stood and rested his spade on his shoulder. “Lead the way, Captain.”

The two soldiers made the half-mile trek back to the Amestrian camp. They passed Ishvalan builders repairing broken homes, children playing tag, a circle of old women sewing traditional clothes. Some of the Ishvalans waved to Roy and Riza. Others avoided them, glared or turned away entirely, grumbling hushed questions as to why they were even there.

“Hey, chief!” greeted Havoc with his mouth full. The dining tent for the task force was lined with cheap tables and chairs, enough to seat the small squad of thirty-five that had volunteered to restore Ishval. Most of Roy’s team had come along, including familiar faces like Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong and First Lieutenant Ross. Even the Elric brothers and Winry had stayed for a couple weeks here and there.

“Hey,” said Roy, clapping Jean on the back. He winced. “Getting sore out there?”

“You have no idea. I’m sure you like playing farmboy out in the fields, but moving those big pieces of rubble is killing my back. And it’s not like Armstrong can use his alchemy to help.” Jean held his head in his hands. “I think I’m getting old.”

“Welcome to the club, buddy.” Roy gave Havoc a reassuring pat before grabbing a bowl and spoon at the makeshift kitchen. “What’s on the menu?”

“Soup and more soup,” said Lieutenant Breda. “Amarah gave me some _mean_ spices to work with. Might even be hotter than your flames, General.”

Roy smirked. “We’ll see about that.” He scooped a few spoonfuls of Breda’s recipe into his dish and took a seat with Havoc and Hawkeye.

Rest was something Roy gravely needed. His exhaustion from hours of tilling was somewhat relieved by good conversation, shade and a delicious meal. Moments like these were rare for him. He had devoted himself entirely to Operation Ishval, taking only one week of leave in the past two years because the Führer had commanded it. With the constant efforts of Roy, Lieutenant Colonel Miles, Amestrian charities and the Ishvalans, life was flourishing again in the holy land. But the cost to Roy was unavoidable. He’d lost too much weight and the labor left his mind frazzled. Loud noises brought a gripping fear and ghosts of the dead stared up at him from the sand. If it weren’t for his faithful comrades watching his back, he was certain the desert would swallow him.

“Captain Hawkeye,” called Fuery from the tent’s entrance. Riza turned from her seat beside Roy. “You have a phone call from the Führer, sir.”

“Oh. Thank you, Fuery.” Riza stood, leaving her lunch to take the call in the main tent. Roy watched her leave, eyes narrowed in concern.

“He doesn’t usually call this early,” noted Breda from across the table. “Do you think something’s up?”

“Gotta be,” said Roy. “His last call was a week ago. It’s usually once a month, right?”

“Something like that.” Havoc flicked his cigarette into an empty bowl and scoffed. “C’mon, General. Stop worrying so much. I’m sure Cap’n will tell us what’s going on, if anything.”

The three men had finished their meals by the time Riza returned. Her eyes were filled with words she wasn’t saying, anxiety only Roy could see. “General,” she said. “The Führer would like to speak with you.”

Roy tried to read her face to get some idea of what was wrong, but Riza had become stone. He thanked her and left the dining tent in favor of the main one, shoulders heavy, taking the phone Fuery offered. “Hey, old man.”

 _“General Mustang,”_ chimed Führer Grumman in his typical playful tone. _“It’s been a while since I heard your snark. I was starting to miss it. How’re things going over there?”_

“Pretty well, actually.” Roy sat down by a desk. “We’re tilling more farmland right now. The Ishvalans reinstituted a school system for the kids. Fuery is giving tech classes, Breda and Havoc are working on defense and Marcoh is using his stones to heal the sick. Hawkeye’s training warriors, but she does some education stuff with the kids, too. Armstrong should be back next week and the rest of my volunteers are doing plumbing and electrical work.” Roy paused. “But that’s not really what you called for.”

Grumman released a long sigh. _“Unfortunately not. But it’s always good to hear your updates in the east. Helping Ishval helps Amestris, which takes a load off of my shoulders.”_ The Führer swallowed hard. Roy heard a pen tapping on a desk. _“Listen, kid. I pushed through your proposal for the war trials ahead of schedule, just like you asked. The Ishvalan leaders and my cabinet have agreed on terms. They’ll be choosing juries and judges over the next few months. You should get a lawyer.”_

Roy leaned back in his chair. Riza’s dour expression made sense now, but he still hadn’t been prepared to hear the truth. Roy had been advocating for these trials for years. Now that they were real, they threatened his hope for Amestrian redemption. His life. “Looks like I might not take your place after all.”

_“It’s not like you to be so negative, Mustang. You’ve got people in your corner. Powerful people. On both sides.”_

“That doesn’t mean they’ll sway a jury, though. It all depends on who the Ishvalans pick.” Roy rubbed his eyes, exhausted yet again. “You’re right, though. Thank you for doing this, sir. It’ll be better to start my reign as Führer on the best possible terms with Ishval.”

_“Smart thinkin’. Even if it does get you a bullet to the head.”_

“So much for staying positive,” Roy joked, but the humor turned to ash in his mouth.

 _“Before you go, Mustang, I have a favor to ask in return.”_ Grumman’s voice lowered. _“Keep an eye out for my granddaughter, would you? I don’t think she took the news well. If she’s anything like her mother…”_ He trailed off. After moments of silence, Grumman cleared his throat. _“Just take care, kid.”_

“You too,” muttered Roy, hanging up the phone.

**15 SEPTEMBER, 1919  
** **ISHVAL, DALIHA REGION**

A blaring, high alarm startled Roy awake. He dashed to the edge of his tent and threw open the flap, expecting bombs and gunfire. In the distance, Breda and Havoc were arguing — and laughing — over a car they’d malfunctioned while trying to fix it. Roy could hear them fussing over the different colored wires. “Dammit you two,” he groaned, dragging his trembling hand down his face. He reached for the pill bottle beside his bed, popping it open and tossing a few capsules down the back of his throat. Hopefully the thudding in his heart would dissipate. “What time is it, Captain?”

He glanced over to Riza’s cot. She was absent.

“Hawkeye?” Roy rubbed his eyes and peeked out the opposite end of their tent. Riza and Hayate were nowhere to be found. She could handle herself, he knew. Worrying was a waste of time. Even still, Riza was usually asleep at this hour, or at least reading a book by the light of her lantern. Roy furrowed his brow. Recalling Führer Grumman’s concern, he grabbed a flashlight and stepped out into the desert.

Though piercing heat scorched Ishval during the day, the desert nights were frigid. Roy hugged himself to chase away the cold and stifled a yawn that tempted him to turn around. He hadn’t thought about grabbing a coat or blanket before he left. He didn’t think he’d need one, but ten minutes into his walk, he found himself shivering. How far had Riza gone, anyway?

“General Mustang?” called someone. Roy turned to find Lieutenant Colonel Miles close by, carrying stacked boxes. “I didn’t expect to see you up so late.”

“I could say the same for you.” Roy motioned to his cargo. “What’s with all that?”

“They’re for the trade headquarters downtown,” Miles explained. “Lieutenant Havoc’s family donated office supplies. We’re bringing them to the site before we turn in.”

“I see. The Havocs are good people.”

“Indeed.” Miles adjusted the load. “Can I ask what you’re doing, sir? You look lost.”

“I guess I am.” Roy looked around to the endless stretch of pale sand and cliffs, the curved river that sliced through the hills. “I’m looking for my captain. Have you seen her?”

“Hawkeye?” asked Miles. “Yeah. She’s over by the water. Just lying there, from what I saw.”

Roy froze. “Lying?”

“I believe so. Her dog is with her. Go see for yourself, General.” Miles pointed to a small cliff up ahead. “She’s just over that bit of rock, on the edge of the water.”

“Thanks, Miles. I appreciate it.”

Concerned, Roy went to the sand-coated rock face Miles had mentioned, climbing the natural divots as stairs. The dim flashlight guided his way. When he reached the top, he spotted a flickering lantern by the riverbank. Riza was lying on her back with her faithful shiba, relaxing on a blanket under the sky.

“I was told I’d find you here,” said Roy, grinning a little as he approached. Riza wasn’t startled when she sat up, but her expression was mildly surprised. Hayate lifted his head and sniffed Roy’s hand when he crouched. “Don’t get up. It’s okay.”

“Is everything alright, General?” asked Riza.

“Yeah. Havoc and Breda broke a car and woke me up. I noticed you weren’t in your bed, so I came to find you.” Roy stood and rubbed his neck, feeling sheepish. It all sounded juvenile when he said it aloud. “What are you doing out here?”

Riza turned back to the river, laying down once more. “I was watching the stars, sir. They’re quite beautiful in this part of the world.”

Roy craned his neck and looked up. Thousands of twinkling stars dotted the night sky, scattered like tiny diamonds on lacquer. “Wow,” murmured Roy. “I never really paid attention.”

“Most people don’t.” Riza folded her hands over her stomach. Hayate rested his head there. “Did you need something, General?”

“Not really. Just making sure everything’s alright.” Roy guessed that she’d been deep in thought, and he didn’t want to interrupt. She had the right to be alone. “I’ll leave if you were looking for solitude. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Roy started toward the cliffside to return to his tent, to bed. Riza’s voice called out to him. “Sir?”

Roy turned around. She hadn’t moved. “Yeah?”

“You… once asked me if I remember my mother’s garden.”

Without Riza summoning him, Roy came to her side and sat down in the sand.

“I remember the creek running through the forest by the house,” said Riza with a little smile. “The water sounded a bit like this river. I guess that’s why I came here.” 

“Have you had trouble sleeping?”

She nodded. “It’s difficult to sleep in this place.”

“Yeah,” muttered Roy, looking down at his hands.

“Ever since you mentioned the garden back in Central, I keep thinking about it.” Riza closed her eyes. “I remember the colors of the wildflowers. Fuchsia, yellow, sky blue and cream. Honeysuckle along the house walls. My mother would replant whatever seeds she found at the base of the mountain and care for what grew, but she’d mix them with other flowers, too. Roses and chrysanthemums and daisies and tulips.” Riza’s voice fell quiet from the memory, as if speaking too loud would make it disappear. “Summers were always so beautiful. The garden was too large for me to tend everything on my own, though. I don’t know how she managed it.”

“Maybe your dad helped her. He might’ve helped you too, if you asked.”

Riza frowned. “That’s difficult to imagine, sir.”

He supposed it was. Master Hawkeye was reclusive, elusive even to his own daughter from the time of Roy’s arrival. He barely left the house in the years Roy stayed. Nursing flowers was out of the question. “What got you thinking about all this, anyway?”

“As I recall, General, you were the one who first brought it up.”

Roy sighed. He didn’t know how to explain to her that the aftermath of the Promised Day made him reexamine parts of his life, things he both regretted and revered. Faded memories of his parents, enlisting in the military, his first alchemic spark and flame. Screams of the dying. Wildflowers in summer.

“You don’t have to say it,” Riza added.

“I’m sure that’s why you’re thinking of it, too.”

Riza closed her eyes again. “I would give anything to see my mother’s garden one more time, or something like it. I don’t think I ever will.”

“Don’t say that,” Roy offered. “Maybe we’ll get out of this trial with our heads intact. Maybe you’ll make a flower garden of your own someday.”

Riza parted her lips to respond, but said nothing.

Roy went back and forth between looking up at the night sky and eyeing the woman beside him. Her expression was serene. Dark eyes the color of soil reflected the stars, a breathtaking mix of earth and sky. Roy was comfortable in silence with Riza. He had been ever since they were young, staying up late with books and soft music, only breaking their quiet streak to ask for tea or a pen. Their bittersweet youth had become so distant from the war-torn adulthood they were living now, husks of human beings trying to right their wrongs. Even still, Roy found himself aching for days past. A momentary weakness.

“I’m surprised you’re not cold,” said Roy after a long while. “I’ve been holding back shivers this whole time.”

He turned to Riza. Her eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in a gentle motion. She looked almost the same as she did when they were kids. Matured of course, but with the same short hair, same calm and reserved nature, even in sleep. Roy wondered what that intimate mind of hers was dreaming about.

“Hey, Hawkeye,” he said after a few minutes. Roy reached out and touched her shoulder. 

Riza’s eyes shot open. She sat up, curling strands of blonde hair behind her ears. Hayate groaned in annoyance. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah. Easy to do under the stars.” Roy pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand to her. “We should go back to the tent. We have work in the morning, you know.”

Riza nodded. She took his hand, letting him help her to her feet, and gathered her blanket in her arms. Hayate trotted nobly behind them. “I’m sorry for worrying you, sir,” she said when their tent was in sight. “I’ll let you know next time before I leave in the middle of the night. I can’t have you wandering the desert looking for me. You might get lost.”

Roy managed a laugh. He wanted to sling his arm around her shoulders like they were teens again, walking home together after a night at the Fitzley street fair, but he felt that it ultimately wouldn’t be appropriate. He settled for a pat on the shoulder. “Sounds good. But try not to worry about the future so much. Stay in the present with the rest of us, and we’ll deal with the trial when it comes.”

“That optimism won’t last,” chuckled Riza, “but I’ll humor you for now.”

Roy knew she was right. Still, if only for a moment, it was worth seeing her smile.

**14 APRIL, 1920  
** **ISHVAL, DALIHA REGION**

“Mr. Fireman?”

Roy turned from the nail he was hammering into a wood fence. An Ishvalan child not much younger than Elycia pulled on the hem of Roy’s shirt, her blood red eyes full of tears. “Mr. Fireman, please help!”

“Hey,” said a nervous Roy as softly as he could. Nearby Ishvalans stopped their labor to observe, each as wary as the next. No one had forgotten the child’s death that sparked genocide. Her ghost hung in the air. “Is something wrong?”

“Fadilah is stuck in the tree!” The girl grabbed Roy’s wrist, yanking him along, making him drop his hammer in the dirt. “Mama says firemen help, and you’re a fireman. Please help!”

“Okay, okay,” Roy assured in a rush. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” He had no idea who Fadilah was, but he couldn’t leave a child so desperate, especially if her friend was trapped as she claimed. The girl led him down a twisting gravel path, away from the center of New Daliha. Roy had to awkwardly jog to stay close enough to hold her hand. They finally stopped before the foot of a massive olive tree on the outskirts of town, larger than any Roy had ever seen, casting a far-reaching shadow across the sand. The girl let go of him and ran forward, sobbing.

“Fadilah!” she called. “Are you okay, Miss Riza?”

Roy squinted up from the base of the tree. Sure enough, Riza Hawkeye sat straddling a high-up branch, her ankle trapped between two sections of wood. “General!” greeted Riza with a wave. She tried to smile, but Roy could tell she was in pain. “I’m glad to see you.”

“What are you doing up there?” Roy couldn’t help but grin, raising his hand to shelter his eyes from the sun. “Slacking off, Captain?”

“You haven’t rubbed off on me that much.” Riza held up a child’s doll made of fabric, rice, and some buttons. “Meet Fadilah.”

“I see,” said Roy. “Miss Riza to the rescue?”

“Somebody had to, sir.”

Roy looked down to the child beside him. She was reaching up to Riza, to her doll, her lower lip stuck out in a pout. “She’s beautiful, kid. Your Fadilah.”

“Thank you,” whimpered the girl. “Can you bring her down, Mr. Fireman?”

Roy crouched down to her level. “Would it be okay if Miss Riza dropped her down to me? I’ll catch her, I promise.”

The child sniffled, blinking her wide eyes up at him. “You promise?”

“Sure do.” Roy held out his pinky. She eyed him suspiciously before deciding her doll’s life was more important than her fear. She hooked her pinky finger with his. “Alright, Captain,” said Roy, standing to give Riza her orders. “Toss Fadilah to me. But be gentle, she’s precious cargo.”

“Copy that.” Riza stretched and laid across the branch as far as she could with her trapped foot, just above Roy, about thirty feet upward. He could see her chuckling even from a distance. “Ready?”

“Fire away.”

Riza let go of small Fadilah. Roy watched her the whole way down, catching her gracefully in his hands. The child squealed with glee. He handed Fadilah over, and her owner showered her in hugs of relief. “Thank you Mr. Fireman,” she cried. “Thank you very much.”

“No sweat.” Roy looked up to Riza again. She was smiling at the sight of the young girl, no doubt reminiscing, her arm hanging lazily off the branch.

“What about Miss Riza?” asked the child.

“Yeah,” said Roy. “About that. I may need to use alchemy to help her, but I can’t transmute without a monk. Could you find one for me?”

“Mhm. I’ll be back. Promise.” She bolted toward the hill they came from, waving her arms and shouting for help. Roy watched her shrink in the distance.

“She’s lively,” he muttered. Roy placed one hand on the trunk of the great tree, looking up to the captain. She looked like a sloth or a Cretan koala. “How’re you doing up there?”

“I’m alright, sir.”

“C’mon. I can see you’re uncomfortable.” Roy pointed to her leg. “Any pain at all?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Riza winced and sat up. “I think it’s sprained.”

Roy didn’t want to leave Riza trapped and alone, but he wouldn’t break his promise and perform alchemy outside of the boundaries he’d been given, either. There was only one option. He untied his boots, pulled off his socks, and rubbed his hands together.

“What are you doing?” Riza shouted. Roy answered with action. He found his grip on the trunk of the tree and hoisted himself upwards, planting his feet in the crooks of the bark. “General! You shouldn’t climb up here, you might—”

“Relax, Hawkeye. I’ve done this before.” Roy gripped each opening he could find, climbing to the best of his ability to reach Riza’s height. When he finally got there, he straddled the thick branch in front of her with a triumphant, tired grin. “See? Told you it’d be fine.”

“You’re too bold, sir.” She shook her head at him. “Look at you, you’re already worn out. You’re not as young as you used to be.”

“Well, neither are you, yet only one of us is stuck. I guess that makes me the better climber.”

Riza eyed him with playful scorn.

Roy’s legs dangled on either side of the branch, his arms folded over his chest. A gentle breeze brushed the leaves, the tendrils of Riza’s growing hair. They were so far from the center of New Deliha that the cacophony of hammers and saws was no longer audible. All that remained was a peaceful whispering wind. It reminded him of something. “Do you remember the harvest festival back in Fitzley?”

Riza raised her brow. There was a pause, followed by the smallest grin forming on her lips. “The one we snuck out to?”

“Yeah.” Roy smirked. “Your dad would’ve skinned us if he found out. I’d never seen a street fair before, and it smelled so damn good. All those pastries and sweets. The games were fun, too.” He rubbed his chin -- stubble was growing, and he needed a shave. “Do you think they still have those things?”

“The festival?” asked Riza. “I would assume so. It’s a beloved tradition.” She straightened her back and scowled at him. “Didn’t you push me into a pond?”

Roy grinned. He’d forgotten until she mentioned it. “Soaked all your clothes. I think you’d beaten me at a ring toss, and that was my revenge.”

“My aim has always been better than yours.” 

Roy scoffed. “My flames have pinpoint aiming. That’s far superior to bullets.”

“Alchemy doesn’t win a ring toss, sir,” she retorted with a shrug. “Besides, I’m far more useful on rainy days.”

Smiles spread on both their faces. They laughed together for perhaps the first time in many long years, truly  _ laughed _ , a sensation of lightness that reflected decades of friendship. For so long, their relationship had been dictated by law and boundary. To be carefree again when the threat of execution hung over their heads was freeing, if not also damning. It spoke of all they had to lose.

This was dangerous territory. Both of them knew it, and refused to meet each other in the eye as their laughter died.

“Miss Riza, I’m back!” The little Ishvalan girl returned to the base of the tree, shouting up to them. “I found a monk, Mr. Fireman!”

Roy looked down to the child and the priest she’d brought, an elderly man in colored robes reflecting his station. “Go ahead and transmute, General Mustang,” chuckled the elder. “I can’t say Captain Hawkeye is the first person to get stuck up there. I suppose that’s why the more aggressive children picked this tree to throw Sarah’s doll in.”

“Bullies, huh? That’s a shame.” Roy turned to Riza, not wanting to waste time. “Ready to get free?”

“Please.”

Roy clapped his hands together and pressed them to the wood. Blue light fizzled around the branches, unwinding them to release Riza’s ankle from their grasp. Roy could tell she’d sprained it, at least. There would be bruising soon. “All this for a little girl?”

“You would’ve done the same,” she replied.

Roy was able to transmute the tree once more, landing the two of them safely on the ground before returning it to its natural, imposing state. Riza leaned her weight on the trunk and beamed to stop Sarah from worrying. 

“Thank you, Miss Riza,” said Sarah in a cheery tone. Riza’s pain seemed to vanish. “Fadilah says thanks too.”

“You’re welcome, Sarah.” Riza patted her on the head. “Let me know if she gets stuck again.”

“Okay. Bye Mr. Fireman!” Sarah waved, holding the monk’s hand as they returned down the hill to the settlement. Roy watched them for a time. His smile remained. Sarah’s innocent gratitude was something he would hold dear through the trials to come.

“Do you think that girl knows I  _ make _ fire instead of putting it out?”

“Doubtful, sir.” Riza tried to stand, but grimaced and leaned back against the tree. “I may need help getting to Doctor Marcoh.”

Roy sized her up and smirked. They weren’t in Central anymore. “Want me to carry you?”

“What?” Riza stammered. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It would be faster, you know. You wouldn’t have to put any weight on it.”

Riza looked both flustered and irritated. Roy watched her bashful indecision, her sigh when she came to the logical conclusion he knew she’d come to. “People will talk.”

“Let ‘em. We might be dead anyway. Maybe I’ll find a nice pond for you on the way into town.” Roy wrapped one arm around Riza’s waist, the other under her legs, and lifted. She clung to him for balance, shaking her head at his comment.

“If you get wet,” she added, “then you’d truly be useless.”

Roy carried Riza across the desert and back into town, to Marcoh’s temporary office for healing, her arms wrapped around his neck. She didn’t mention the forever ignored fondness between the two of them, so neither did he.

**27 APRIL, 1920  
** **ISHVAL, DALIHA REGION**

The nightly ritual for the Amestrian volunteers in Ishval was a great campfire after sunset. Soldier and civilian alike came together for stories, beer and a little relaxation under the stars to unwind. Rejuvenation for the soul. Roy was typically last to these events as he stayed working until after dark, but tonight was different. Roy wanted to enjoy his final night in Ishval among friends.

“General?” said Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, coming up to the fire pit as Roy struck a match. The sun had barely begun to sink behind faraway dunes. “You’re here early.”

“The Ishvalans sent me back just after dinner,” Roy explained, lighting the fire and blowing softly to feed it. The flame caught on the drywood and grew to a comfortable size. “They said if I worked much longer, I’d get heat stroke.”

“Is that so?”

Armstrong sat down on a boulder beside Roy. The two of them watched the fire flicker and dance, knowing heat stroke was a poor excuse, knowing Roy was too headstrong to admit he just wanted comfort. Just months away, the trial hung over everyone. Only verdicts would make it disappear.

As the sun fully set, soldiers and volunteers filed in from their respective jobs, exchanging stories and pleasantries. Breda passed around crates of beer when the sky bruised purple. Roy took a bottle and twisted it open, tossing the bottlecap to a young woman from South City who collected them. It wasn’t long before Riza approached the fire with her rifle strapped to her back. She froze when she noticed Roy. “General,” she said in surprise. “You’re early.”

“Heat stroke,” Roy replied. “Well, almost.”

Riza sat next to him, scanning his face for signs of a fever before turning back to the fire, setting her weapon by her feet. 

“I can’t believe you’re really leaving, chief,” said Breda. He ran his fingers through his ginger hair. “It won’t be the same without you and the captain.”

“You two have been here for so long,” said a female volunteer. “I don’t think I’ll get used to following someone else’s orders.”

Roy took a sip of beer. He offered one to Riza, but she declined. “You’ll all do fine under Armstrong’s leadership. I’ve left behind a list of what needs to be done in the next few months, and longer if needed.” 

“Oh c’mon,” groaned Havoc, leaning back in his camping chair. “Don’t be such a sourpuss. You’ll make it back. Surely the jury would take the work you’ve done here into consideration, right?”

“I don’t know. I’m not counting on anything.” Roy gave a heavy sigh. “Besides, I’m not here just so I can avoid the death penalty. No matter what happens, I’m proud of all of you and the things we’ve accomplished here.”

“I second that,” Riza added. “Please, don’t pity us. We’ve wanted this for a long time, and these trials mean a great deal if Ishval and Amestris are to move forward together. I’m confident you will carry the torch for us here, regardless of our fates. Take pride in the good work we’ve been able to do.”

At Roy and Riza’s words, the group became a mix of smiles and downcast eyes. It took far too much power for him to resist reaching over and holding Riza’s hand.

“General! General Mustang!”

Roy turned in the direction of the shouting. Fuery was running toward them, beaming from ear to ear, carrying something half his size. “Fuery?” questioned Roy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.” Fuery lifted his hands, offering Roy a dirt-crusted acoustic guitar. The color had faded and the strings, worn. “I found this while going through some ruins out in the Kanda region. It still sounds good. Don’t you play, sir?”

Roy considered the instrument, conflicted. “I played a little when I was a kid, but it was Hughes who taught me when we were at the academy together. He was the pro.”

“Would you play a song for us, General?” asked one of the volunteers. “It’s been a while since I heard Amestrian music. We don’t get good radio signal out here.”

“Yeah,” said another. “We’d be honored to hear you play, sir. Might lighten some hearts.”

Roy hesitated before accepting the guitar from Fuery, dusting it off and strumming the strings. He was surprised that he remembered how to tune. Aunt Chris always said he had a talent for music, despite pursuing alchemy instead. He looked up to the group, his heart tight in his chest. Playing music felt wrong somehow, but in holding the instrument, he felt closer to his dead best friend. He swallowed hard. “What should I play?”

“I don’t know,” said Havoc. “What sounds good, folks?”

“Something fun,” chimed a young corporal. “Something we can all sing to.”

The group thought out loud together. The few suggestions that came forth were shot down due to difficulty or style, or Roy simply not knowing them. Paying attention to recent radio trends wasn’t a priority of his. He was close to giving up until Riza piped in beside him. “I know a song,” she said. “I wouldn’t call it fun, but it’s certainly beautiful.”

Everyone turned to her.

“My mother used to sing it to me when I was a girl. Do you remember when I taught it to you, General? The one about death.”

“I do,” Roy replied, his mouth suddenly dry.

“You play,” said Riza. “I’ll sing.”

The soldiers whispered excitedly, scooting closer on their logs and rocks and blankets to better hear the officers perform. Riza had never been so forward as this, but Roy knew she would do anything for her subordinates’ peace of mind. Just feeling their anticipation lightened the load on his shoulders. “Alright, Captain. On three.”

Softly, Roy began to play, finding the right chords by ear and memory. And on cue, Riza started to sing. Her voice was sweet. A calming alto, like the texture of velvet or a rich bourbon. Her mother had been a pianist, Roy remembered, so he wasn’t surprised by how well Riza could hold a pitch. What surprised him was how relaxed he became from the sound of her, so much that he nearly forgot where his fingers were on the guitar.

The lyrics to the song were somber, telling a story of loss and remembrance from the perspective of a loved one who’d died.  _ I shall sleep in peace until you come to me. _ The major key was deceptive. Roy supposed it was a fitting lullaby for them. Even still, his mind was closed off to sorrow, sitting beneath an open desert night. Riza was singing beautifully and Ishval was alive. It wasn’t a time for sadness. Not yet, at least.

When Roy and Riza finished their duet, the small audience broke into applause. Roy searched the crowd. It had grown nearly twice in size, a number of Ishvalan children and teens having come from the nearby village to listen. They wore smiles just the same as the soldiers. Already they were giving suggestions for an encore, sharing seats and ideas together with the Amestrians.

Perhaps it was the glow of the fire, but Riza’s eyes were as warm as Roy had ever seen them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have 27 feelings and 26 of them are about roy and riza  
> also!! if you'd like to follow me for updates/other fic, i'm @foretold on tumblr! xx


	3. Case White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THINGS TO NOTE BEFORE READING:**   
> 
> 
> * I genuinely don't know how people are going to feel about this chapter? Trial stuff hasn't been done a lot, not in this way I think, so I kinda went with what felt right. I'm sure some people will think parts of this are out of character, but I tried to think of how much they've all changed over the years.  
> 
> * Idk. Enjoy??? Oh, also, "Case White" was the name of the operation where the Nazis invaded Poland. I thought it was fitting to have that be the name for the war trial chapter since Amestris is very Nazi Germany inspired.

**** ****

**24 JUNE, 1920  
** **CENTRAL PRISON - MALE WARD**

_“So. Your trial starts soon, then?”_

Roy leaned against the cracked prison wall, toying with the phone cord. Aunt Chris’s tone was tense. She was worried, even if she wouldn’t say so.

_“I warned you not to do this, you selfless brat. They’ll kill you.”_

“I don’t expect you to understand.” Roy kept his eyes to the floor, folding one arm under the other. Two months he’d been incarcerated, and each time he spoke with his aunt, her fiery concern grew. “It’s what has to be done.”

Chris forced a sigh. _“My brother and his wife would shit themselves, were they alive.”_

Roy didn’t know what to say to that. His parents were long dead; what they would or wouldn’t think about his decision had no bearing on him. “The warden told me I can have visitors soon.”

_“You sayin’ you want me to come see you?”_

“It would be nice.” Roy looked longingly out the window to grey clouds and pouring summer rain. A line of inmates was being marched through the main gate by armed soldiers, dressed in their jumpsuits, all chained together. “I don’t get company these days. I’m starting to slack off from my irresistible wit and charm.”

 _“Well, that won’t do. Can’t have you goin’ soft on me.”_ Chris paused, tapping her long nails on her desk. _“What about your girl?”_

Roy felt sick just thinking about her. A bubbling nausea. “I haven’t seen her since we were arrested.” Riza had left his sight the moment they were dragged from the prison van, after transporting from Central Command where they’d turned themselves in. He endured the demeaning, violating process of being booked, photographed, strip-searched and fingerprinted all without her beside him. Roy assumed she had faced the same. Wherever she was in this dull, spiritless place, he hoped she was in better shape than him.

_“That won’t do either. You need her.”_

“I’ll be fine,” he lied.

_“What about those nightmares of yours? The headaches? They didn’t just stop in Ishval because of the medication, you know.”_

“You should stop treating me like a child one of these days.”

_“What, you think I’m a sucker? I’m not stupid. I won’t have you rot away in some damn prison cell all by yourself!”_

“C’mon, Aunt Chris.” Roy faked a positive tone in hopes of disarming her. She’d break down the walls herself if she thought he was being mistreated. “You don’t have to be up in arms like that.”

A string of unholy curses came from the other end of the phone, which he held away from his ear to preserve his hearing. Roy didn’t dare interrupt her. He felt the same anger toward himself, to a degree. That same fear. By the time Chris was finished, he was down to three minutes left on the call and the only sound between them was silence. Eventually, she sighed. _“I’ll come see you soon, kid. And I’ll bring some of that whiskey you like. Maybe some of the girls’ll come with.”_

Roy tried to smile. “Thanks, auntie. I appreciate it.”

After a short goodbye, Roy hung up the phone. He turned back to the prison cafeteria where his fellow inmates ate half-frozen meal rations with a single cup of water. Such was his fate, but at least Aunt Chris had given him something to look forward to.

Prison life welcomed unbearable loneliness. Each prisoner had respective daily jobs to complete, all except for Roy. His stay among the regular inmates was temporary as the cell block for the war criminals had yet to be prepared. As such, Roy suffered the company of murderers, rapists and thieves during meal hours, many of whom he’d caught and put away himself. If any of them knew his identity, he’d be dead before he ever saw a verdict. Roy decided it was best to keep to himself. The past months had been spent pacing in his cell or strolling aimlessly through the bullshit excuse for a recreation yard. Hell on earth for an extrovert. Roy was beginning to fear he’d already been tried and sentenced, and no one had told him.

“I know,” said another prisoner, in line behind Roy for the meal of the afternoon. “It’s terrible here, isn’t it?”

Roy looked over his shoulder. The man was in his mid-forties with peppered hair and a sad smile. The orange jumpsuit made him look even paler. “Could use a bar,” joked Roy, half-hearted.

The prisoner chuckled. “It could definitely use a bar.” He took his plate and patted Roy on the back, his eyes filled with sympathy. “Good luck, man.”

Roy scanned the room. Many of the prisoners had been watching him warily, but turned away the moment they locked eyes. Roy found the source of his solitude, then. It wasn’t that he was avoiding the other inmates. _They_ were avoiding _him._ The lowest and most criminal that Central society had to offer, and even in their eyes, he was a monster.

That night, Roy had a visitor. A military guard with a club and flashlight, broad shoulders and a mean grin. He knocked on Roy’s iron bars, waking him from slumber. “Get up, General. You’re being moved.”

“What?” Roy rubbed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Just come with me.” The guard opened the door and motioned with his club for Roy to follow. “These are orders.”

Without another option, Roy obeyed.

Jailer and inmate passed snoring criminals in their small cells. Roy had never been so deep in the prison before, and what a hellhole it was, uneven floors and bland white walls with a constant _smell._ At the end of the hall, he followed the guard through an open door and into a separate, empty ward. The door closed behind them. “What is this?” Roy asked with a scowl. “Where are you taking me?”

“Relax. These orders come from the Führer. See this?” The jailer motioned to the surrounding lines of barred cells, sectioned off from each other with thick walls and little windows to the outside. “This is where they’ll keep the war criminals during the trials. Separated from the other prisoners, you know.”

Roy understood, but it left a sudden pain in his gut. Being near hostile strangers was already miserable. He’d go insane if completely alone.

“This one’s yours,” said the guard. He pulled a pair of keys from his back pocket and unlocked the cell in front of him. Roy entered as he was told, then froze still as the door latched shut again.

There was not one bed in this cell, but two. The other occupant was Riza. She had bags under her eyes and her hair was unkempt, but when she looked at him, her expression brightened.

“Captain?”

“General!” Riza shot to her feet. “I thought — they told me that —” Her shock dissipated, shoved away by a soldier’s resolve. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Roy managed a tiny smile.

He would give Aunt Chris the biggest hug of her life when next he saw her.

**30 JUNE, 1920  
** **CENTRAL PRISON - CAFETERIA**

Prison guards woke Roy for his trial just after dawn. Riza watched as they led him away in chains. “General,” she called out to him, unsure of what to say. He only grinned, saluted her, and left.

Riza was alone.

Slow seconds turned to lengthy minutes, and the hours were agonizing. Riza paced in her cell. She ate little. She didn’t speak to anyone at breakfast or lunch, not even the other soldiers who’d been gathered for the trials. “This is what we deserve,” some said. “Fuck Ishval,” said most, “this isn’t fair. We were just following orders.” Her loyal comrades. Few of them had Roy’s courage and conviction in facing the consequences of their actions. Riza supposed that was why Roy was a 35-year-old Brigadier General while these men didn’t reach senior rank until they were seniors themselves.

“Captain Hawkeye,” called a familiar voice. Deep and booming. Riza turned from her uneaten dinner. Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong smiled down at her from his great height. His was a worn smile, but pleasant all the same.

“Lieutenant Colonel?” said Riza in surprise. “I thought you were in Ishval.”

“I was.” Armstrong cast his teary eyes to the floor, his grip on his dinner tray tightening. “I couldn’t let you and General Mustang be the only ones to turn yourselves in. I left Lieutenant Havoc in charge of the Amestrians in Ishval.”

Riza softened. Roy wasn’t the only courageous one, it seemed. “I thought the Ishvalans were exonerating you.”

“That was never made official. I may have disobeyed my orders in the war, but I still took innocent lives. It’s only fair that I subject myself to a trial.”

“That’s very noble of you, sir.” Riza looked back to her untouched lunch, a bowl of hot soup and crisp potatoes. War criminals ate better than your average killer. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No. It’s difficult to find a place to sit when you’re too large for the tables.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Riza picked up her tray and stood. As melodramatic as Armstrong could be, the company of a friendly face was better than loneliness, and his heart was pure gold. “If there aren’t any tables for you, maybe we could find a nice wall to sit by.”

Armstrong beamed. “That would suit me just fine.”

The two soldiers found a spot in the empty hallway to dine. With permission from the guards, Riza retrieved a cafeteria chair and pushed it up against the wall while Armstrong made himself comfortable on the floor. Despite one of them being on the ground, they sat at near equal height.

“Today is the first day of the trials,” noted Armstrong. “When does yours begin?”

“A few days from now.” Riza took a sip of water. “What about you?”

“I have yet to receive a court date. I only just arrived yesterday.” He took a bite of his soup. “General Mustang is the first to face a jury, so I’ve heard. Are you doing alright, Captain?”

Riza furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“I — well.” Armstrong looked flustered. “I only assumed that you would feel strongly about the General’s trial, given the nature of your working relationship.”

Right. Riza sighed, drumming her fingers on the cup in her hands. “This trial is something we’ve both wanted for many years. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, but I have to trust that this is what’s best. Regardless of the outcome.” She took another sip. “That’s how he’d want me to feel.”

“You are a loyal soldier, Captain,” said Armstrong. “But just because you’re loyal doesn’t mean you can’t have your own feelings.”

Riza’s breath caught in her throat. She saw recognition in Armstrong’s gentle stare, an accusation of something that could not be said. She turned her gaze down to the water in her plastic cup. She wasn’t close enough to Armstrong to admit that she’d been taught to keep face since she was a little girl, not allowed to reach out, to trust, to rely. It made her the perfect soldier. Whatever Riza's heart felt about her circumstances, her General, had to be buried deep. At 31 and facing death row, it was too late in her life to change.

A full minute passed before Riza found words. “How I feel doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. “This is the military. You do what you’re told or you pay the price. You follow orders. My orders are to protect General Mustang until he reaches his goal. Even if he never does and it ends prematurely, I’ll be honored to have served at his side. That’s the only feeling I can confess.”

Armstrong turned back to his food, frowning. “Forgive me. I did not mean to pry.”

Neither of them addressed the truth. Riza kept her eyes downcast, feeling hollow yet full of grief. “If I happen to face the firing squad and General Mustang is let free…”

Armstrong shook his head. “You don’t have to ask. Of course I will.”

They finished their meal in silence.

**30 JUNE, 1920  
** **HIGH COURT, CENTRAL COMMAND**

“The court will open the case of Brigadier General Roy Mustang.”

The chains around Roy’s wrist seemed to tighten when the gavel dropped. Volunteering to be the first man on trial was a mistake. Roy didn’t know what to expect. The prosecution could tear him apart on the stand if they so desired, rip the limbs from his defense and send him to hell before the day was out. If that was the case, he would accept it. But Roy wasn’t about to let his dreams of redeeming Amestris be shot down without a fight.

Roy studied the courtroom. The air was thick with the memory of Ishvalan dead. Beside him was the nameless lawyer appointed to his case, a young man with dreams. A fool. Lieutenant Colonel Miles had been appointed as an advisor to the prosecution and sat with them, unreadable. The Führer had taken one of the judge’s seats and thirteen members of a restless jury loomed over Roy from their great mahogany booth, including the man formerly known as Scar, who'd been granted amnesty. Ishvalans and soldiers lined the pews behind the main floor, separated on either side. The Führer would keep things civil while the jury decided Roy’s ultimate fate. There was no telling how long his trial would last, how many days or weeks or months, but for Roy, it would be endless.

After opening statements were made, Grumman cleared his throat. “The first of the prosecution’s witnesses may step forward.”

A young Ishvalan woman stood from the row of benches behind Roy, dressed so modestly that the only skin showing was her face. Her red eyes were haunted. She stepped through the half-doors to the courtroom floor and took the stand, her expression downcast. Roy tried to read her, recognize her, but he couldn’t even give her that dignity. She was just another face in the sea of those he’d harmed.

“Please state your name for the court,” said Lieutenant Colonel Miles from the prosecutor’s desk.

“Palti,” said the girl. Palti. Did Roy know a Palti?

Miles nodded. “Thank you for coming, Palti. You may begin your testimony.”

Roy was going to be sick.

“I was five years old when the State Alchemists came to Ishval,” said Palti. “We lived in a village by the river. We’d been there my whole life. Our family had run the farm for generations. We used to play in the water together when summer came because the weather was so hot, you see, and it was the only way to stay cool.” She wrung her gloved hands in her lap. “We’d all heard about the extermination. I remember Mama pulling me into our home and filling up a bag with food and water, shoving it in my arms. She told me to run with the other children and kissed me goodbye. When the alchemists came, I fell behind the others because I couldn’t run very fast. I was so little.” Palti never looked up from the floor. “I remember the screaming and the gunshots. I heard my parents cry out. And when I looked back to my home…” A tear dripped down her cheek. “There was only flames. My mother and brothers turned to ash in front of me and Papa was blown to pieces. My sister picked me up and tried to carry me out, but we were stopped by a State Alchemist.”

Palti stood. Removed her gloves and coat. Along her arms were disfiguring burn scars and rigid, half-healed skin. It covered her.

All the fight in Roy retreated. His blood ran cold as frozen rain. Let them find him guilty. One testimony from a single survivor, a child, and Roy knew he was damned and deserved it.

He still could not remember her.

His lawyer began to rise. “The defense would like to—”

“Sit _down,_ ” growled Roy. He grabbed the man by the arm and yanked him back into his seat. “You damn fool. Let the girl rest.”

Roy didn’t say another word. Not when the next witness spoke, or the one after, not when they broke for lunch or for any testimony thereafter. He’d been gutted by the blade of war yet again. Knowing his pain was unjustified compared to those affected by his actions made his guilt all the sharper, the knife run deeper.

When court adjourned for the day, after a fifth Ishvalan witness testified against him, Roy’s counsel grew so frustrated with his silence that he stormed from the building, leaving his client alone. A shadow had been cast over Roy that would not dissipate. The prison guards heaved what was left of him up on his feet and hauled him back to his cell.

The walk was a blur, a harrowingly familiar skip in time. Roy’s chest tightened and released and tightened even more, a physical sign of something he knew would have its due. When the cell door slammed shut behind him, he was left ragged.

Riza rushed to his side. “General?” she asked, placing a hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

His head was too clouded. Flooded with a dozen different emotions, unable to feel them all at once. He trembled under their weight. Fire and blood spilled at his feet and gunfire sang from afar. “It was just orders,” he muttered. “I carried them out. That’s what it means to be a soldier. But I still… I still…”

“You should sit down,” Riza urged. She led him to the edge of his bed and filled a cup of water at the small sink by their window. She placed it on the bedside table, sitting down on her knees in front of him. “Just breathe, sir. Breathe.”

Roy sat on his bed and buried his face in his hands. What little self-restraint remained kept him focused on staying still and contained, stopping him from slamming his fist into a wall or screaming, or worse. His breath came in sporadic huffs and his shoulders shook. In his head were corpses and sand.

He didn’t know how long he suffered. Minutes, hours, tremoring through it all. When Roy finally lifted his head, Riza was still there, eyes swimming with fear for his well-being. Moonlight bled in from the window, casting her in white. “General?” she whispered.

“I’m okay.” Roy cleared his throat. “Actually, I don’t know. I’m okay for now, though. Sorry if I worried you.”

Riza didn’t seem convinced. She lifted her arm, slowly reaching for his face, then stopped. Her hand fell in her lap.

“I guess now would be a good time to shoot me for straying,” Roy joked. “I can’t lead a country when I’m panicked like this.”

“This isn’t hatred or anger or selfishness,” said Riza. “This is doubt. I wouldn’t shoot you for something so human.”

As ever, Riza was exceptional at knowing him better than he knew himself. Roy dared to finish what she had started, raising his hand, reaching. Her eyes followed it until the backs of his fingers grazed her cheek, a featherlight touch. He stroked her pale face just once. Riza’s eyes fluttered closed, and she pressed her cheek against his hand, hooking her fingers over his wrist.

The light caught Roy’s palm when she moved. He saw the scar from Führer Bradley’s swords on the Promised Day, malformed and ugly in the center. He thought of his words to Hughes so many years ago — _can you really hold the woman you love with your bloodstained hands?_ Roy clenched his hand into a fist and lowered it to rest on Riza’s shoulder. “I have to keep moving forward,” he said, voice wavering. “It’s all I can do.”

Riza didn’t say so, but she understood. Roy could feel it. She squeezed his wrist before rising to her feet, taking the glass of water from the table and offering it to him. “You should drink something, sir, and get some rest. Tomorrow will be another long day.”

Roy took the water and drank it down quicker than he meant to. “Thanks, Hawkeye. I can always count on you.”

Riza turned away. She crawled into her bed, under the blankets with her back facing him, and lay still. Roy didn’t move either. He listened to the sound of her breathing, deep and restless at first, until it fell to a slow pattern in sleep.

**3 JULY, 1920  
** **CENTRAL PRISON - CELL 13B**

Riza kept her hawk’s eye on Roy’s condition. She made sure he ate breakfast and slept long enough, that he showered regularly and kept conversation with her. The subjects of their talks weren’t her primary concern; so long as Roy was well enough to speak, she was satisfied. He even managed a few jokes here and there. If Riza didn’t know him better, she’d think he’d recovered a small piece of his old charismatic self. She could only hope he wasn’t faking anything for her sake.

Though Riza’s goal was to ensure that Roy kept moving forward as promised, there was nothing to be done for him while he was at trial, and her own was still a day away. Solitude was crippling. It forced her mind to wander. To keep sane, Riza spent her time at the prison library reading adventure books that took her to new lands, breaking the bars of her cell in favor of a great unknown. It proved a fair distraction. When she wasn’t reading, she strolled the recreation yard with Armstrong, watching distant wildflowers blow in the breeze.

Each passing day was a lifetime. A repeating nightmare Riza couldn’t escape. But on the fourth day of Roy’s trial, she had an unexpected visitor.

Riza was reading in her cell when a prison guard approached the door. “You have ten minutes,” he said to someone. Riza sat up as the door opened, confused, until she met a pair of familiar golden eyes.

“Edward?”

“Hey, Lieutenant,” said a chipper Edward Elric. He had a glow of happiness about him, his shoulders broad, his complexion glowing. How _tall_ he’d grown. His ponytail reached mid-back and his trench coat looked new, but his ear-to-ear smile stood out the most. “Or is it Captain now?”

Riza felt the welcome pull of her own smile in her cheeks. “It’s Captain. How did you get here?”

“It was pretty easy. All I had to do was pull rank.” Ed shrugged. “I guess ‘the Fullmetal Alchemist’ is still a title I can throw around. Who’d’a thought?”

Riza marked her place in her book as Ed dragged over the only chair in the cell and sat. They observed each other from head to toe. _Nice clothes,_ Riza thought. _He looks both older and younger, somehow. He’s filled out. And he’s got a—_ “Well, look at that.” Riza pointed to the silver ring on Edward’s left hand. “Did you and Winry finally tie the knot?”

“What do you mean ‘finally’?” groaned Ed. “Yeesh, you’re sure quick on the draw. We’re just engaged. But I like wearing the ring. There’s something real about feeling it there, I guess.” He toyed with the ring out of habit. “Winry wants you and Mustang at the ceremony.”

Riza’s expression slowly fell. “I don’t know if that’s possible, Ed.”

“Of course it’s possible.” Ed motioned to her. “You and General Bigshot will get out of here and show up to my wedding in Resembool next spring. Winry would be upset if you weren’t there. And I won’t make her cry.”

Riza rested her hands in her lap, shaking her head. The truth was harder to face when Ed and Winry’s happiness was at stake. “As much as I’d like to go, I can’t promise anything, Edward. That’s the way things are right now.”

“Please. It’s not like you _want_ to die, right?”

She paused. “If the General is executed—”

“He won’t be.” Ed’s tone was defiant as he placed his hand over his heart. “I’m gonna testify on his behalf.”

Of course he would. Riza should have known the second she saw him. “Edward, I told you a long time ago that this was our affair. You shouldn’t worry about us. You have enough going on in your life with your traveling, and now a wedding. This trial is necessary.”

“I’m not just gonna let you kill yourselves!” Ed leaned forward, fire in his tone. “You’re both good people who want to change this country. Even that bastard Scar knows you’re not ruthless Ishvalan-hating murderers. There are tons of people who will stand up for you and the General. Besides,” said Ed with a snort, “I owe Mustang some money.”

Beneath all that had changed, Edward Elric was still the same bull-headed, fiercely determined kid he always was. It made Riza’s heart swell, if only a little. “You don’t let up, do you?”

“No way. Not when people I care about could die.”

“You were once a State Alchemist,” Riza reminded him. “The jury may not listen to you.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with Ishval. And I can’t do alchemy anymore, so what’s the big deal?”

“That won’t matter to some of them. All of us on trial have bodies piling up behind us, Ed. What you demand may be out of your power to control.”

Ed leaned back again, looking away from her, arms folded over his chest. “You and the General… you really cared about us, you know? Al and I. We never forgot that. Even if Mustang’s a pain in my ass, we gotta pay it forward.”

Riza managed a chuckle. “Equivalent exchange?”

“That’s right. Except plus one, like Al and I have been talking about. You cared about us. So we’re gonna do everything we can to save your lives.”

Ed’s eyes were filled with the same fearless conviction that once saved the world. He truly meant to help Roy. And Riza, if it came to that. Was it possible that they meant so much to the Elrics? To Winry and the others? The thought filled her with some form of hope. Its glimmer, no matter how small, was a gift Riza would cherish in the weeks to come.

“Five minutes,” called the guard from the door.

Riza swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t know what to say, Ed. Other than thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ed waved his hand, mischief all over his face. “You can pay me back by showing up to my wedding as the First Lady of Amestris, whaddya say?”

“Edward!” stammered Riza in disbelief. Regarding Roy, no one had been so direct with her. “You realize my grandfather is still the Führer.”

“Don’t gimme that. You know who I’m talking about." Ed winked. "You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

She could almost laugh, hearing her own words from years before thrown back at her. Riza couldn’t confirm or deny what Ed had proposed, but he knew. His smirk said it all.

Edward spent the last few minutes of his visit giving Riza a summary of his journeys to the west. In the past year, he’d traveled all over Aerugo and Creta, even parts of Drachma, studying ancient and modern science and philosophy. He’d met all sorts of odd characters and learned more than anyone had a right to. His adventures were endless, but he had only touched the surface when the prison guard alerted them that his time was up. Before Riza could utter a goodbye, Ed came forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a hug tighter than most. “My teacher once told me that it’s okay to hurt,” he said. “See you at the wedding, Captain.”

Riza waved as Edward left. Her fondness for him, a surrogate family member in many ways, grew twice over. But his words stuck with her. _It’s okay to hurt._ They cracked her shell of self-preservation like rushing water to a broken dam. She sat back on her bed and stared at the floor, pondering their truth.

~~~~~

Roy returned to their cell just after sunset. Riza lifted her head from her pillow when she heard the clang of keys and chains. A prison guard opened the cell door and closed it behind Roy. Riza’s eyes stung, but she forced a minuscule smile just for him.

Roy looked her over. “What happened?”

“Nothing, sir. It just rained a little.”

Roy’s eyes grew soft. He didn’t comment and sat on the bed opposite hers, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ll never guess who came to my trial today.”

“Edward?” Riza guessed.

“I — yeah, actually. How did you know?”

“He came to visit me earlier. I only got ten minutes with him, but he told me what he planned to do.”

Roy rubbed his chin and scoffed. “He always shows up when you least expect him. I thought he was still in Creta.”

“So did I.” Riza rolled on her back, staring up at the grey ceiling. “He’s grown into a fine young man, I’d say.”

“He really has.”

A few moments passed. “I don’t know if you noticed, sir, but he’s engaged now. To Winry.”

“No shit,” said Roy. “Is that so?”

“He told me himself. They’re getting married in spring.”

“Huh.” Roy leaned back against the wall, a sly smirk on his lips. “Never thought that kid would beat me to the altar.”

Riza couldn’t smile. Her heart was weighed heavy. “He invited us to attend, sir.”

The cell fell quiet. Riza folded her hands over her stomach. “We should go,” said Roy.

“We may not be able to.”

“I’m not planning on dying any time soon.”

Riza looked at him. “General, you—”

“I know what I said,” Roy blurted. “And I meant it. Whatever the Ishvalans decide to do with me, I’ll accept. But I’d like to believe that I’ve played my cards well enough, shown my intentions as Führer so nakedly, that it would be difficult for them to execute me and let someone else take over.”

Roy’s logic was sound, Riza supposed, and his optimism was welcome compared to his earlier struggles. But their roles had reversed. She sat upright and hugged her knees to her chest. “Then perhaps you will attend the wedding alone.”

“Don’t do that.” Roy’s eyes grew darker than their shadowed cell. “I’ve told you too many times that you should never give up. That was an order.”

“This isn’t something either of us can control,” Riza asserted. “I’m only a Captain. I have no political power to reshape Ishval outside of helping you. There are no eyewitnesses to account for any wartime humanitarianism either. Who ever watched the snipers? All eyes were on the targets, not the ones pulling the trigger. We were expendable. We still are.” Riza swallowed hard. Ed’s words came to mind again — _it’s okay to hurt_ — but not in front of Roy. She’d failed him enough. “I expect to take the fall for the infantrymen who have and will continue to avoid trial for their actions, sir.”

“Hawkeye,” Roy began, but Riza turned away. She lay down with her back facing him. 

“My trial begins tomorrow. I’d like to sleep, General, if you don’t mind.”

Roy let out a long sigh. Riza heard his mattress creak, heard him rest beneath the thin blanket. Riza steadied her breathing. Swallowed any tears. She could shed them when she was alone, when Roy or anyone else would be none the wiser.

“You know,” said Roy after a time, “I still remember when you cried for me. That homunculus made you think I was dead.”

Riza remembered, too. Roy had scolded her back then. Would he scold her now?

“Wanna know a secret?” he asked. When Riza didn’t reply, Roy continued, his voice low and unsteady. “Just after Ishval, when you asked me to destroy your tattoo... After going through war, you’d think I wouldn’t be affected by burning people anymore. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way you screamed. When it was done and I wrapped you in bandages, and carried you up to your room…” He paused for a while. “I sat by your bed and watched you sleep. And I cried the whole time.”

The lump in Riza’s throat re-emerged as a burning coal, painful to keep down. She pushed herself up enough to turn and look at him. Roy was laying on his back, one arm dangling off the bed, the other draped over his eyes.

“I don’t want you to think you’re alone in this. Believe me, I’m not too keen on the potential of dying either, but if it comes to that, I’ll be right beside you. We’ve shared so many things. A home, a battlefield, a hospital room and a prison cell. At the very least, the jury can give me the dignity of sharing a firing squad with you.”

Riza wished he would look at her. Roy didn’t move, laying there with his face covered, unable to see the trembling gratitude in Riza’s eyes.

**4 JULY, 1920  
** **CENTRAL PRISON - RECREATION YARD**

Roy didn’t have a chance to speak to Riza before she was taken. Military police unlocked their cell door just after dawn and shackled her in chains. Roy tried to make eye contact with her, to say something encouraging and promise she’d be fine, but Riza would barely look at him. All she offered was a salute. Roy rushed up to the bars of their cell door and watched her go. He wasn’t a religious man, but his prayers went with her anyway.

Roy didn’t know what to do with himself. Riza had a pile of books on her side of the room, but none of them held his interest, too anxious to focus on anything but the situation at hand. Was this how she’d felt in the days he’d been at court? Fear disguised as rage bubbled up inside his chest, coming to a boil, and he slammed his fist into the concrete wall.

It wasn’t like him to be so emotional. How many years had he and Riza fought side by side, worked together without speaking of what lay between them? This time was different. Back then, they could always save each other with last minute bullets or flames or witty remarks, but he was truly useless to her now.

“General?” questioned Armstrong, approaching Roy from behind. Roy was sitting atop a picnic table in the recreation yard, his feet on the bench, back slouched as he stared forward. A barbed wire fence separated him from the field of wildflowers beyond. “You haven’t eaten lunch, sir. They’re almost finished serving.”

Roy sighed. “Did Hawkeye ask you to keep tabs on me?”

Armstrong came to Roy’s side, watching the grass move with the wind. “She did. The captain worries about you.”

Roy glanced to the sky. Dour grey clouds hung low, casting gloom on all the light touched. It would rain soon. His wounded knuckles twitched. “Wanna know a sad truth, Alex?”

“Sir?”

“Alchemists… we really are terrible people.”

Armstrong shifted where he stood. “You need to eat. Melancholy doesn’t suit you, General.”

“It’s true, though. You know it is.” Roy ran the fingers of his good hand through his hair. “All it would take is a simple transmutation and I’d be out of here. I could break apart that fence, make myself a nice little exit. I wouldn’t even need a circle. All it would take is a…” Roy slowly pressed his palms together. “Clap.”

A dozen transmutations came to mind. Making an archway out of the fence, terraforming a tunnel underground, using the metal of the picnic table to craft himself a weapon. He even had the intrusive thought of burning the prison to ash and stealing Hawkeye from the courtroom, throwing her over his shoulder and running off into the sunset like storybook villains. In the end, he separated his hands and placed one on a tear in his cotton pants, mending it with a fizz of blue light.

“Sir,” said Armstrong again. “I fear this weather is getting to your head. You know the captain will be wrathful when she hears you were poor with your health.”

Roy didn’t want to think about Riza, what she was going through. He knew it was foolish to push away his allies, people he could call friends, but Roy didn’t want the company of anyone still living. The only person he wanted to talk to was a man he would never see again.

As the day went on, Roy let slip the progress he’d made. He paced in his cell and ate nothing, spoke to no one outside of Armstrong who continued to voice his concern. He entertained the idea of venturing to the library, wondering if he could find escape in novels as Riza had, but he quickly shot the idea down. It couldn’t be helped. Roy was a man who took comfort in those he could trust and speak to, but his best friend was dead and his right-hand woman may soon be. He needed something to _do._

“Mail for you,” called a prison guard as the sun began to set. Roy turned from the window. An envelope was tossed carelessly through the bars. Roy picked it up as it slid across the floor to his feet, flipping it over to see the sender.

Gracia Hughes. Roy paused, stared, and opened it quickly.

_Dearest Roy,_

_I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your hearings. I don’t think I could bring Elycia to such a place. As much as she misses her Uncle Roy, you and I would agree that it’s better for her not to see you like that. She insisted on sending you a drawing, however. She’s gotten very good at art. I hope it can bring you comfort in the weeks to come._

_My husband never told you, but Ishval haunted him terribly. He sought assistance outside the military for some time, from a doctor who operated out of his home helping war-torn soldiers with their grief. Maes didn’t even tell me; I only found out when the doctor visited me a few weeks after he died. My husband was very good at hiding how miserable the fighting made him. For the sake of those he loved, I suspect. He didn’t want to worry us._

_Maes loved you just as fiercely as he hated the war. I know he would be right beside you, voluntarily on trial for his crimes, were he still alive. He supported you and believed in your goals to the very end. Now that he’s gone, it falls on me to lend you that extra hand. No matter what happens, you and Captain Hawkeye are welcome in my home. I will always be here for you._

_Sincerely,  
_ _Gracia Hughes_

_P.S. I tried to send an apple pie, but the prison wouldn’t allow it. You’ll have to drop by when you’re released so I can make you one fresh._

Enclosed was a colorful drawing of “Uncle Roy, Elycia, Mommy and Daddy” at the cemetery where Hughes rested. Roy held it to his chest so his tears wouldn’t smudge the crayon.

**4 JULY, 1920  
** **HIGH COURT, CENTRAL COMMAND**

“The court will hear the case of Captain Riza Hawkeye.”

The smack of the gavel echoed through the courtroom. Riza sat across from the Ishvalan jury, chains around her wrists, fear in her eyes. She was not afraid of any one person or the fatal outcome that could befall her. No, she feared what she could not control, what could be stolen from the nation if Roy’s dream, her dream, died.

She glanced to the jury. Scar and his master were among them. Riza figured Scar must have been granted immunity and a seat on the jury for his role in the Promised Day. Surely, then, her damning words would reach the hearts of his peers. That alone brought some solace.

“You call no witnesses?” asked Lieutenant Colonel Miles from the center of the court floor. “And I notice you don’t have a lawyer.”

“I refused a lawyer, sir,” said Riza. “I won’t call any witnesses. I have no intention of fighting a guilty verdict.”

The jury began to whisper. Miles’s mouth was a thin line as he observed her. “You have a young man waiting outside who wishes to speak for you,” he said. “I believe you know who.”

Riza shook her head. “I know Edward is determined, but I don’t want him to testify. I’m sure whatever he said on the General’s behalf was more than enough. Besides, I’ve already prepared my statement.”

The jury grew louder. Miles raised a hand to silence their speculation. “Let me get this straight. You’re not going to call any witnesses? And you’ll speak on your own behalf, in a statement you wrote yourself?”

“Yes, sir.” Riza straightened her shoulders bravely. A soldier to the end. “But to do so, I’ll need these chains off my wrists and the room emptied of everyone but the Führer, the jury and the necessary individuals. I hope, Lieutenant Colonel, that you can speak for my character and assure the court that I won’t try to fight or run.”

Miles took a moment to consider. He turned and nodded to the judges and jury, to Scar and his master, who nodded back in approval. “Clear the floor, then.”

Riza forced a neutral expression as Miles unlocked her chains. He guided her to the center of the room once it was as empty as could be. "I hope you know what you're doing," he warned, then returned to his desk beside the prosecutors to await her statement. 

Red and blue eyes focused on her. The silence spoke volumes, but all Riza could hear were the pounds of her drumbeat heart. Her hands felt clammy. She hadn’t been so petrified in years, not since the homunculi, since the civil war, since she was a little girl under her father’s needle. 

Riza took a deep breath. Clenched and released her fists. She looked over to Führer Grumman where he sat beside the judge, wanting him to see the apology in her eyes. Once spoken, her words could not be unsaid.

Riza turned her back to the jury. She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, holding it around her chest for modesty, moving her long hair over her shoulder.

The jury gasped. 

“Roy Mustang doesn’t hold the key to flame alchemy,” stated Riza. “I do. My father was General Mustang’s alchemy teacher. He tattooed his research on my back and instructed me to show it to whomever was worthy. It’s because of me that the General ever learned how to light a spark. The blood on his hands is also on mine.”

Riza forced herself to breathe. Her arms stayed tight to her chest and she was guilty, so guilty. She would bear it all for him.

“The burns?” questioned Scar.

Riza took another breath. “After the Ishvalan war, the shame of what I’d done wore heavily on me. I asked General Mustang to burn away the evidence of my father’s research. I knew that in the wrong hands, flame alchemy could destroy nations as it did to Ishval. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that happened.” Riza closed her eyes to ground herself before facing the jury, the victims. “I showed Mustang the secrets on my back because he had a dream. He believed that by joining the military, he could change Amestris and guide it down a path of peaceful democracy instead of militarized dictatorship. I trusted him. I followed him into the service to support his vision as best I could. Since the beginning, we only wanted to fix what was broken. My burned back is proof of that.” She clutched her shirt tighter. “If one of us must be punished for the crimes committed with flame alchemy in Ishval, it should be me. General Mustang has the power to purge the corruption in this country and continue Führer Grumman’s work when he takes power. He can fulfill the promises he’s made. I am only a captain. I will accept punishment on behalf of the snipers during the war, and whatever information my back still holds can die with me.” She kept her head high. “I know I’m in no position to make bargains. But that’s all I ask.”

The Ishvalans didn’t seem to know how to react, every one of them looking to each other for an opinion. Riza feared they would respond with anger or disregard her humiliation entirely, but Scar stood from the bench, alone. “The jury will consider what you have said today.”

It was the best she could hope for. Riza bowed her head, gave her sincerest gratitude, and redressed. Lieutenant Colonel Miles allowed the guards to reenter. They chained Riza once again, taking her by the arm to lead her from the courtroom.

Riza dared a glance over her shoulder. Her grandfather’s eyes locked with hers, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks.

**5 JULY, 1920  
** **HIGH COURT, CENTRAL COMMAND**

Riza didn’t say much when she returned. Roy watched her rub her arms and sit with her legs to her chest, her nose buried in a book as she tended to do to escape her mind. Whenever Roy asked how the trial went, she replied with a dismissive, “it was fine, sir.” It wasn’t like her to be so secretive with him. The lengths she went to avoid speaking to him were painfully reminiscent of their childhood, when she would skitter quietly about the house in fear of her father’s new apprentice.

When Roy woke the following morning, Riza was nowhere to be found. Maybe she’d gone to breakfast early. He didn’t have time to wait for her. The prison guard came to drag him to trial just after dawn, and he did not see Riza before he was taken away.

Roy tried to keep calm. The chains around his wrists jangled when he adjusted them. In the last session, he’d sat through another brutal round of testimonies from families with scorched homes, parents with scorched children, victims with scorched lives. Roy began to wonder if death would be mercy. Living with the survivors’ stories would be no easy task, no matter how just it was that he heard them. But only cowards opted out. Honorable paths were demanding, yet Roy knew no other way.

The jury filed in. Führer Grumman sat still at the head of the court, looking more grim and ragged than usual, as if he hadn’t slept. 

“The court will return to the case of Brigadier General Roy Mustang.” The judge lifted the gavel and smacked it down.

From the jury, a young Ishvalan woman with long white curls stood with a sheet of paper.

“General Roy Mustang,” she said. “The jury has decided to forego further testimony. With the permission of your Führer, the judges and the prosecution, we have deliberated and reached a verdict.”

Roy shifted in his seat, brow furrowed. It was unusual for a jury to break protocol so clearly and without precedence. Had something happened? 

Would he die today?

“For the charges of mass murder and the willful slaughter of Ishvalans during the civil war, we find you guilty. For the charge of murdering those who had surrendered, we find you guilty. For the charges of torture and inhumane treatment via alchemy, we find you guilty. For the charge of willful attack on non-combatant civilians, we find you guilty. And for the charge of destruction via alchemy with the intent to kill, we find you guilty.”

Roy hadn’t expected any less. He waited.

“The punishment for these crimes is death by firing squad.”

Silence. Breathing. More silence. It echoed off the walls. With each passing second, hope for Roy’s life, his dream, flickered out like a dying spark. His pulse slowed in acceptance.

Until Scar stood from the booth. 

“It is the opinion of the jury that this death penalty be waived,” Scar declared, “given the evidence that we’ve been presented. As long as you meet three terms, the majority agrees to suspend the sentence. Break these terms, and we reserve the right to revoke your acquittal regardless of your station. Death will not be far behind.”

Roy could only stare. His chest felt caved in from the shock, but he remained still, not wanting to expose his heart to the room. “Terms?”

“First, you will stay true to your word and release Ishval from Amestris once you become the Führer, and Ishval is self-sustainable. We will become our own nation again with fair trade and economic opportunity within your country.”

“Of course,” said Roy. “Your holy land will return to you. That's a promise.”

“Second, you will disband the State Alchemist program. Never again will there be human weapons used in war.”

Roy did not hesitate. “What the State Alchemists were responsible for in Ishval should not be repeated. I agree. Consider it done.”

Scar stepped down from the jury booth and approached the defendant’s desk, piercing Roy with a sharp red stare. Once, they had been enemies. That old hatred lingered. Now, Scar would be delivering judgment as he’d always hoped to do, and Roy could only meet it headfirst.

“The third term,” Scar said. “Your alchemic specialty is abhorrent, violent and deadly. It is among the most destructive and powerful forms this country has ever seen. As a result, it should be eliminated.” He glared at Roy. “You will never use flame alchemy again.”

At hearing those words, Roy should’ve felt a terrible emptiness, being robbed of the science he’d devoted his life to perfecting. And yet, looking into Scar’s hardened red eyes, there was only relief. Flame alchemy was a small price to pay to achieve the Amestris of his dreams. “I accept.”

“We will draw up a treaty. One that legally binds you to your promises.” Scar turned away from the desk. “Once it is signed, you will be free.”

The jailer unlocked Roy’s chains. They sank to the floor, falling with the weight of his sins. It happened too fast for Roy to process and object when he should have. The guard took his arm to lead him away, but Roy resisted, a surge of panic rising within. “Wait!”

Scar faced him again, a single brow raised.

“I know I’m in no position to be asking favors,” said Roy, more desperately than he meant to. “It humiliates me to have to grovel to you, of all people. But there’s a woman on trial. Her name is Captain Riza Hawkeye. She was a sniper in the war, still at the academy when she was ordered to Ishval because we were short on manpower. She was a teenager, for God's sake.” Something caught in Roy’s throat. “If I’m to succeed as Führer, she _must_ be by my side.”

Scar looked to Miles, then to the jury. Their faces were unreadable, but Roy could tell they were all thinking the same thing, whatever it was. “We cannot discuss another open case,” said Miles. “We are still deliberating over Captain Hawkeye.”

 _“Please,”_ Roy asserted. “I need her.”

“You heard the man, Mustang,” said Grumman from the head of the room. “Don’t embarrass yourself. You got your freedom. Let them do the rest.” The Führer coughed, stood, and looked at him with uncharacteristic coldness. “Court is adjourned.”

~~~~~

Roy’s final walk through the prison liberated him. His lungs opened and he could truly breathe, feeling life pump through veins, knowing all would continue as it was meant to. The ghosts of his past would haunt him until death; he would never escape them, nor did he feel he had the right to. But to be allowed a second chance to fulfill his visions and put Amestris back on the right path was the singular perfect outcome, alongside Riza's release. He felt daylight on his face as he was led through the courtyard. A breeze kissed his cheek. Had it always been so warm?

“Captain,” said Roy, coming to his and Riza’s cell. Roy was free of chains and only one guard was posted to him.

“General?” Riza shot to her feet, tossing her book on the bed. She approached the cell door, her expression filled with worry. “What happened?”

“I’ve been judged guilty, but I agreed to their terms. They’re letting me go.”

Riza’s eyes fluttered closed, a tense breath passing her lips. She came forward to rest her hands on the bars. “That’s wonderful, sir.”

Roy ached to embrace her, soothe her. “I’m sure they’ll see sense in your case, Hawkeye. They have to.” Riza opened her mouth to disagree, but Roy placed his hand over hers, curled around the bars separating them. “Keep moving forward.”

Her eyes softened. “I’ll do all I can, sir.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, searching for certainty, for hope. It dawned on Roy that this may be the last time he ever saw Riza Hawkeye. She must’ve been thinking the same. “General—”

“Don’t.” Roy squeezed her hand. He wouldn’t entertain the idea of what would happen if her execution came to pass. Confidence and belief in his goals set him straight. “Save it for your release day.”

Riza slowly nodded. She stepped away from the door, from his hands, to salute her commanding officer. “Happy homecoming, sir. Tell your aunt I said hello.”

“I will.” Roy straightened, saluted her in return, and left.

**12 JULY, 1920  
** **CENTRAL PRISON - CELL 13B**

Twenty-four hours alone in the cell was enough to make Riza feel small. Buried inside herself, tucked away within a concrete shell. Whatever joy she’d felt from Roy’s acquittal was dwarfed by incomparable loneliness. Each day that passed grew longer and longer. Riza took comfort in Armstrong’s presence when she had it, but his trial lasted only a day, and he was sentenced to service in Ishval until renovation was complete. Hours later, he was on a train back east, and she was once again alone.

Riza went days without uttering a word. The peace she’d found in adventure books crumbled like ash, as if the pages burned the moment she touched them. She wasn’t thinking of fantasy anymore. She was imagining what she would say to Roy, were she given a final chance to speak to him.

A week of the jury’s silence left her feeling grim about her fate. All she could hope for was a last day with the people she loved. An hour with Hayate, if the jury was feeling kind. A discussion with Grumman, maybe Rebecca and the team. But what would she say to Roy? Riza envisioned herself keeping her words short and sweet. A simple goodbye to the man she’d followed into hell as promised, letting him move on with his life without the burden of knowing what she’d spent decades holding back. But that was foolish. Selfish, even. Whatever she thought was a secret, the rest of her friends already seemed to know. Perhaps even Roy knew. It was better, then, to tell him upfront, even if the consequences were dire.

On her seventh day alone, Riza had a visitor. When the jailer informed her, Riza thought Edward had returned, but when she stood to greet him, the man who entered was as far from Edward Elric as possible. Tall, broad, dark-skinned and tattooed. Scarred.

“I see you’re awake,” offered Scar in a dull tone. He motioned to Roy’s empty bed. “May I sit?”

“Y-Yes,” Riza stuttered, shocked out of her wit. “Of course.” She sat on her own bed opposite Scar, knees together, hands in her lap. It was not unclear to her that her life hung upon his words.

“The jury and I have deliberated the past week,” said Scar. “Forgive our lateness. There have been many difficult cases. Already, we have sent three officers and one of Bradley’s senior staff to their deaths.”

“That’s a great burden to carry.” Riza kept her expression calm. A trick she’d mastered. “This is ugly business, but it must be done.”

“Yes. It must.” Scar glanced out the little window where a small sliver of light bled through. He had changed much since the Promised Day. What was once a man filled with revenge and hatred was now a warrior devoted to justice. Peace, even. “We have reached a decision regarding your testimony. I came to you personally to deliver it, as the nature of your trial will be omitted from court records to bury your father's research.”

Riza narrowed her eyes. Scar turned to her, and she realized that she probably looked suspicious. “I don’t doubt your intentions,” she clarified. “I just don’t understand.”

Scar was silent for a moment, folding his hands before he spoke. “I believe I can understand your predicament. Being given an alchemic tattoo you did not ask for and expected to know what to do with it. You and I, as distasteful as it is for me to compare us, must have had similar feelings regarding our circumstances.” He clenched his jaw. “In other words, I can relate to you.”

That took her by surprise. Riza’s neutrality disappeared in favor of sympathy. Scar was tense in his shoulders and his scowl was evident. He’d clearly spent much time deciding what he would say to her. Riza let him continue, not wanting to interrupt.

“I was there that day. The Promised Day. I witnessed with my own eyes how General Mustang was pulled back from the flames of hatred by your devotion. He was equally incapacitated by the possibility of your death. It has long been clear to me that without you by his side, he would be unable to change Amestris to the full extent of his ability.” Scar straightened his back. “It is because of this that I believe that you, despite the atrocities you have committed, should guide him. Change in this country is what I sought to bring by helping it. To take the strongest support from its future ruler would contradict that promise.”

Riza’s breath hitched. She’d forgotten that Scar had been there with them on the Promised Day, seen those moments of weakness. She ran her fingers over the scar on her neck. It still ached, from time to time. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect to walk out of this place with my life.”

Scar’s eyes were heavy with internal struggle. “I will tell you what I told Mustang. Though I will never forgive you for your role in the slaughter of my people, after all you have done to change Amestris and help Ishval, I can say in earnest that I no longer hate you. I wish you luck in restoring your country.”

Riza allowed herself to smile. His words took bravery, and she respected him for it.

Scar opened the barred door to her cell, then turned to her. “Arrangements have already been made to take you home. You are free.”

The words barely sank in. Riza stepped forward, out of the cell and into the hallway. One of the guards motioned for her to follow him, but before she did, she looked Scar in the eyes. Riza doubted she would ever see him again. Wordlessly, sincerely, she offered her hand. “Thank you,” she told him. “For everything.”

Holding Riza’s gaze, Scar came forward. “Likewise.” 

They shook hands. Not as an Amestrian and an Ishvalan, but as members of a shared humankind.

~~~~~

Freedom, oddly enough, tasted sweeter once she'd suffered for it.

Riza winced as the prison doors swung open, casting the light of a summer afternoon over her. The warmth made her sigh. A prison guard escorted her across the grounds to the main entrance, where he stopped and saluted. “Your ride is just outside the main gate, Captain Hawkeye. Take care.”

Riza craned her neck as the ten-foot gates creaked apart. She walked through them. The air felt suddenly fresher in her lungs, crisp and healthy, weightless. She closed her eyes and let the breeze smooth the stress of the past few years from her skin. Memories of Ishval would plague her forever. Even still, Riza took solace in knowing she’d done something positive to change lives with her own two hands. It would make the nightmares bearable. Her life, livable.

After a time of reflection, Riza opened her eyes. Parked down the street was a familiar black vehicle, freshly washed and accompanied by someone. Riza almost mistook Roy for a stranger from how revitalized and calm he appeared. Eased, to her relief. Their eyes stayed locked on each other when she approached. Out of habit, she saluted him. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

Roy simply grinned and closed their distance. He pulled her against his chest and squeezed her tight, just as he’d done after their victory on the Promised Day. Riza laughed against his shoulder. Or was it a sob? She held him as closely as he held her, together on the Central sidewalk, in the open for all to see. Two souls who’d walked through fire. Scathed, but whole.

“Come on,” said Roy after a while. “You have a dog that’s waiting to see you over at Fuery’s. Poor mutt’s been bent out of shape ever since we were taken.”

“Yeah,” chuckled Riza, pulling away just enough. “Let’s get out of here.”

Roy kept his arm around Riza’s shoulders as he led her to the car. Together, they drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmm so yeah  
> Riza showing people her thing and Scar's character are probably what I think people won't like, but??? idk???? Under no circumstances do I think they would be executed as that contradicts the entire moral point of FMA, so there. Riza's honesty would help sell that I think, and Scar was literally there for all their Promised Day Dramatic Moments (TM), so he'd be able to speak up for them too, as hard as it would be for him.  
> idk????!!!!!! let me know what you think please? after sitting on this damn fic for two years during writer's block i kinda just said fuck it and published this lmao  
> love y'all xx  
> OH, I'll also be updating **every Friday morning at 9AM PST** from here until the end of the fic! Hopefully I can stick to that deadline but I should be alright.  
> deuces lads


	4. Chess

****

**24 NOVEMBER, 1925  
** **THE FÜHRER’S MANSION**

All traces of King Bradley had been erased from the Führer’s mansion. Roy hadn’t seen the place much since Grumman took office, but even standing on the outside, he could tell there were changes. The roofing was a brighter color and the paint retouched, the outer walkway patterned with mosaic stones and lined with hydrangeas instead of guards. A slow-falling snow created an ethereal shine under the moonlight. It had become a home worthy of a true Führer. A Führer who had just turned seventy, and for whom a party was being thrown to celebrate.

“You just gonna stand out here?” said the crass voice of Chris Mustang. His aunt came up beside him, twenty minutes late, just as he was. She patted him on the back. “Didn’t think you’d be fashionably late like me.”

“Hey,” Roy greeted, kissing her on the cheek. “I was just taking a look at the place. I haven’t been here in years.”

Aunt Chris was once a curvaceous beauty, stunning men into quivering silence in her youth with a wardrobe that flattered her. Now, as an older woman, she kept it comfortable even for formal occasions, wearing a simple red dress with the added luxury of a fur coat. “When was the last time you were in Central?” she asked. “'22, yeah?”

“Geez,” said Roy. “Time flies.” There’d been so much to do between rebuilding Ishval and securing trade relations with Xing that Roy’s hands had been too full to notice the passing years. “I liked being stationed in the east again. Not sure why Grumman reassigned Hawkeye and I to Central, but I’ll take the promotion.”

“You’re just too good at your job. It’s a compliment.” Aunt Chris pinched his cheek like she used to when he was little, making him wince. “Come on, Roy-boy. We can talk inside. I’m sure Grumman’s dyin’ to see you.” From her clutch, Chris pulled a cigarette and a lighter. “You’ve been back for a week and you haven’t even seen us yet. You’re about to get an earful, I guarantee it.”

“Yeah, well.” Roy shrugged. “That’s the downside to moving halfway across the country in a hurry, isn’t it? Not much time for leisure.”

Roy offered his arm to his aunt. She took it without hesitation, and the two shared a smile before entering the mansion. 

The halls of Grumman’s home were filled with friendly faces. People had come from all over Amestris to attend the first military ball since Bradley’s death, and to celebrate their Führer. Roy spent a few brief minutes catching up with some soldiers from Briggs. General Armstrong was as brutal as ever, it’d been said, which surprised no one. He also spent some time with Colonel Armstrong, who had found himself a wife of the most sweet and delicate caliber. She was less than half his size, thin and moderately pretty. How the Colonel didn’t touch her without snapping bone, Roy didn’t know, but it was nice to see Alex so happy.

Roy was halfway through an academy story with Havoc and Breda when he saw her. Riza stood across the ballroom, holding a glass of wine the same shade as her lips. Her gown was black, long-sleeved and modest, save for a plunging neckline that allowed a simple silver necklace to glitter in the light. A slit in the dress ran up her left side, barely past her knee, exposing a pair of pumps and legs that made Roy gulp. Her hair was left down but curled for the occasion, and her makeup was subtle yet flattering.

“Gawking much?” joked Havoc, elbowing Roy in the side.

“Come on,” groaned Roy, feeling his palms sweat. “Can you blame me? She looks incredible.”

“Don’t blame you at all. You’re not the only one lookin’, either.”

Roy felt a flare of irritation. He was protective of Riza. If anyone had earned the right to watch out for her over the years, it was him. They made eye contact across the room. Riza smiled a little. He thought he might combust.

Whether by her admission or his likely begging stare, Riza ended her conversation with Rebecca and glided gracefully toward the group of men, grinning all the way. “What are you boys up to over here?” she asked when she reached them. “Getting into trouble?”

“You know us, Riza.” Breda greeted Hawkeye with a hug. “Trouble is our middle name. It’s nice to see you guys again.”

Roy’s throat went dry. He smiled politely while Riza said hello to Havoc, but he couldn’t speak, unable to trust whatever came out of his mouth. She was stunning. Riza seemed to have grown comfortable in her beauty overnight, having always been reserved about exposing herself in social situations. He almost wished she would walk away. Almost.

“General?” Riza asked. Roy snapped out of his thoughts; she’d asked him how his night was going, and he’d failed to answer.

“It’s going well, Major. Thank you. But I’d be remiss to pass up the opportunity for a dance, if you’re so inclined.” He offered his hand. “Care for a quick one?”

“Don’t say it like that,” chuckled Riza. Still, she slipped her hand in his. “I suppose I can spare a little while.”

A smooth piano blues accompanied Roy and Riza to the dance floor. There were several couples already engaged. The General and Major didn't hesitate to join them, placing their hands in the right places and swaying together. Being so close, Roy compared the colors of their skin — hers had more of a pink undertone — and if he concentrated, he could find the slightest scent of perfume she’d dabbed just below her ear: roses. One of Roy’s favorites.

“Forgive me, Major Hawkeye, but I can’t help but notice how beautiful you look tonight.”

Riza rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t you?”

“Not at all.” Roy smirked down at her. “Your commanding officer I may be, but I’m still a man.”

“As we’re all aware, sir.” 

Roy didn’t miss the playful lilt in her tone. Coming from any other man, he was certain such flirting would result in Riza hailing bullets, but if his remarks ever truly bothered her, she would make him stop.

“You look… very good yourself, sir.” Riza met his eyes. “I’d forgotten how well you can clean up.”

“Shocking, right? I almost miss the dark circles under my eyes. The five o’clock shadow really does things for me. And the  _ smell. _ ”

Riza smiled, as Roy had hoped. “You don’t need to remind me. Your feet alone have made me consider taking early retirement.”

“Major, you wound me.” Roy faked a pouty face. “You’ve mastered the art of the bluff. It’s so hard to tell when you’re being serious and when you’re joking.”

“I wasn’t joking,” she insisted. The two of them laughed between themselves, still swaying, dancing alongside married couples and lovers. When the giggles died, Roy’s hand tightened around hers and his head leaned closer. His chest couldn’t contain his swollen heart.

“You’re too much of a romantic for this, sir,” she muttered.

Roy sighed. “I know.” His hand slid up her back, only just. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Riza was silent for a few moments. “You’re not,” she said finally, “but we made a promise.”

A promise Roy struggled to live with. Perhaps it was a test of their will. Could they hold out long enough to fulfill their vows to Amestris, or give in for the sake of love? He resented how stubbornly ambitious they were. If Roy were a weaker man, or perhaps a merciful one, he’d have taken Riza back west and rebuilt her family farm years ago, fathered a few blonde-haired brats and called it a life well-lived. But Roy was not that man. And Riza was not that woman. Their haunted past and determination to change their country made such a mundane, joyful life impossible.

“Do you want to stop dancing, sir?”

“No.” Roy pulled her closer at an inappropriate distance, lingering on the scent of rose. “Let’s pretend a little while longer.”

Riza squeezed his hand. 

How could Roy go back to the way things were before he loved her? He’d almost lost Riza countless times, whether to Bradley or Ishval or the gold-toothed doctor or the homunculi, to the war trials or even her own loaded gun. The thought that he may lose her to their promise tortured him without remorse. Another man could come by at any moment and sweep her off her feet, filling her head with his own promises of a better future, a man who wouldn’t remind her of the hell she’d been through. Perhaps that would be better for her.

Roy and Riza kept their slow sway until the song came to an end in a gentle flurry of piano notes. When Riza pulled away, Roy read the apology in her eyes and hoped she read the same in his. He was sorry that their lives couldn’t join. Not even now, over twenty years too late.

“Thank you for the dance, General,” said Riza.

“You too, Major.” Roy let go of her while he had the will. “Let me know if you have any recommendations for scented foot lotion. I guess I need it.”

Riza sadly smiled. He watched her walk away, all poise and blonde hair and power, leaving him colder with each step she took.

“Damn,” muttered Aunt Chris, coming to Roy’s side. “All my years as a hooker, and I never had a man look at me the way you look at her.”

Roy couldn’t muster a quip in return. He sauntered over to the bar and ordered a glass of whiskey on ice, straight, and headed for the open balcony. Some fresh air might do him good after such a taxing exchange. Hadn’t he learned to curb his romanticism? He wasn’t a boy anymore, past forty with all the aches and pains associated with it. But his feelings for Riza brought back those childish fantasies, thoughts of love and marriage and a happily ever after. They filled him with hope.

“Takin’ in the night breeze?” said a voice behind him. Roy turned. The Führer stood in the doorway, a mischievous grin on his mustachioed lips. Grumman carried his smoking pipe in one hand as he made his way to Roy’s side. “Never knew you as the quiet contemplation type.”

“Maybe age is changing me,” said Roy after a salute. “Happy birthday, sir. It certainly hasn’t changed you.”

“That’s because I don’t let it.”

Grumman came shoulder-to-shoulder with Roy atop the balcony. The Führer’s gardens spread out before them, hedges of greenery with carefully trimmed and tended flowers. Pipe smoke filled the air. Roy knew better than to wave it away in front of his leader, and sipped his whiskey instead. Both men were prone to their bad habits.

“I saw you dancing with my granddaughter,” said Grumman after a time. “You two are inseparable.”

Roy didn’t know what to say. It wouldn’t do to admit something illegal in front of the Führer, but how he felt had always been hard to hide. “She is my right-hand woman, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah. Save it.” Grumman took a long, thoughtful drag from his pipe. “She’s not getting any younger, you know. If you want a family someday, you’re gonna have to move fast.”

Roy outright laughed. “Forgive me, but I don’t think either of us are in the position to marry and have a kid. Not to ruin your dreams or anything.”

“Damn. Denied again!” Grumman shook his fist in the air before facing the General. “But I’m being serious, Mustang. You have my blessing. It was me who paired you two together, you know. When your Aunt Chris went looking for an alchemy teacher for you, I was the one who gave her Hawkeye’s name. Don’t let my work be for nothing.”

Roy appreciated Grumman’s intentions, but his smile faded all the same. He swirled the liquid in his glass. “With all due respect, sir, a promise is a promise. Restoring this country is more important to Riza and I. It has been for a long time.” That didn’t make it easy, but Roy omitted that part. “Amestris is the child we chose.”

Grumman let out a groan. “Looks like that mutt of hers will be the only great-grandchild I ever see. Ah well. At least he’s trained and has good manners.”

The Führer laughed at his own remark, but his laughter turned to a fit of coughs. Roy’s eyes widened as Grumman pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his dress blues, covering his mouth. The coughing did not cease. It grew so terrible that Grumman dropped his pipe and clung to the railing to keep from falling over. “Sir!” Roy exclaimed, reaching out to offer assistance, but Grumman stopped him with a shake of his head. “God damned cold,” muttered the Führer. He quickly tucked his handkerchief away in his pocket. “Never you mind, Mustang. I’m going to go back to the party. Gotta get a few dances in before your pretty sisters leave, eh? Not that I don’t mind watching them do it.” 

Grumman chuckled, patted Roy on the arm, and left the balcony in favor of the ballroom. Roy leaned down and picked the pipe from the floor. The ashes were still hot enough to burn his hand.

**4 FEBRUARY, 1926  
** **THE FÜHRER’S MANSION**

No matter how many winters passed, Riza never readjusted to Amestrian cold. Ishval’s heat had soaked into her blood, making Central snows unbearable. She snuggled with Hayate and read books by the heater on her days off, and if duty or her minuscule social life required her to leave her apartment, she bundled up with scarves and coats as much as reasonably possible. It had been suggested by her subordinates that General Mustang could “warm her up.” Riza lost count of the jokes, but she allowed a bit of grace for the younger recruits who made them. If training the new grunts meant enduring some well-meant teasing it was a small price to pay.

“M-Major Hawkeye,” stammered the guard posted at the doors to the Führer’s mansion. He quickly saluted her. “Forgive me, sir. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Riza didn’t miss his subtle blush. He was barely a sergeant, not far out of the academy. One of Colonel Armstrong’s men. He must not have seen Riza out of uniform before, with her pearl earrings and a winter dress with a scarf, her long hair down to her waist. She smiled warmly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just Riza today.”

Hayate yipped at her side. Her elderly Shiba knew where they were, already drooling at the promise of treats. “The Führer is inside,” said the soldier. “Should I let him know you’re here, sir?”

“It’s alright,” Riza replied. “I can go by myself. This isn’t official business, just a visit.”

“Of course.” The soldier opened the door for her and saluted once more. “I believe His Excellency is in his private office, sir. Enjoy your day, sir.”

“Thank you.” Riza stepped into the house with Hayate on his leash, chuckling to herself. She would have to remember this bashful guard. Not many young people were enlisting these days. She’d made it a personal project of hers to oversee the growth of new officers; perhaps she had found a new apprentice.

The interior of the Führer’s mansion was well-known to Riza. From her days with Bradley to her visits with her estranged grandfather, she had memorized the main rooms and corridors within the estate, but Grumman’s sense of décor was far different than the previous Führer’s. Drachman dolls lined the mantle of the fireplace. Cretan sculptures and wild paintings brought a color to the home that wasn’t there before, and from the upstairs hall, she could hear jovial swing tunes playing from a phonograph. Grumman was always the sort of man to try to keep up with new trends as much as he could, despite clinging to an eclectic sense of design.

Hayate yipped and ran up the stairs the moment Riza unhooked his leash. “Hey there, pup!” called the Führer from his study. “You look bright and healthy as ever. Want a piece of steak? I won’t tell Riza.”

“Won’t tell me what?” said Riza as she entered. Grumman’s study was a large open room filled with music and old books and smoke from his pipe. His smile grew wide when he saw her. “You know better than to feed him so many treats. Maybe I’ll stop bringing him at all.”

“You wouldn’t starve an old man of his only great-grandchild, would you?” Grumman looked down to Hayate. “Would she?”

Hayate cocked his head to the side and whined.

“I see you’ve already set up,” Riza noted, placing her purse on a sofa by the hearth. The Führer was seated at his favorite antique chess table, a gift from Emperor Ling Yao of Xing, where the two had played a weekly game of chess for the past two months. “Anticipating your next loss?”

“Don’t get cocky, Major. I’ve bested you more than you’ve bested me.” Grumman grinned as Riza took her seat across from him. “Although, I’ll admit that your track record is better than the General’s. He only beat me once in a hundred tries.”

Riza smirked. “He fancies himself a smart man, sometimes.” Grumman had given her the ivory pieces, meaning she took the first move. Knight first. “How was your visit to Aerugo?”

“Oh, wonderful. Prince Claudio was very accommodating.” Grumman moved his pawn forward two spaces. “I get a strange vibe from him, but Aerugo is a pleasant country all the same. Much friendlier since the border treaty was signed. They make an incredible bread dessert dish that I can’t remember the name of, and I’ve been trying to get the waitress I wooed to send me the recipe. Charm gets you places, even at my age.”

Riza shook her head and advanced a pawn. Grumman certainly had a lecherous side.

“It’s been a few months since I’ve seen your team,” said Grumman, making another move on the board. “How is everyone settling into life in Central?”

“As well as can be expected.” Riza captured one of Grumman’s pieces and placed it on the table beside her. “Havoc is adjusting to his new position as captain. Breda is his usual self, funny and supportive. Fuery left the military and became a professor of technology at the university. I just had dinner with him about a week ago. And Falman is still having a hell of a time raising his kids up north. Little geniuses, they are.”

“I’m sure.” Grumman moved his bishop across the board, putting Riza in check. “How is Mustang these days?”

“He’s doing fine,” said Riza. “We just finalized our last shipment of electrical and plumbing supplies to Ishval. They should be fully self-sufficient before the end of the year. The last of our troops have moved out.”

Grumman raised a brow. “Yes, so I’ve heard. That’s wonderful. But what about Mustang himself? Outside the military, I mean.”

Riza stared off, out the window to the snow-covered gardens. Different images snuck their way into her mind, memories of sad lacquer eyes and quite conversations when their subordinates were gone. “He’s alright.”

“You hesitated.”

“I was lost in thought.” Riza smiled to play off her mistake, moving her king out of harm’s way. “He’s feeling accomplished after the work in Ishval, but it’s a bittersweet success. It should never have had to happen in the first place.”

“I understand. But I’m also sure he knows that grief will be a poor companion when leading this country. You can’t change the past. All you can do is move forward.”

Easier said than done, Riza thought, but she did not argue.

They passed the rest of their game in silent focus. After a long and grueling match, Grumman was victorious, pinning Riza’s king between his rook and bishop. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “A winner again! Can’t beat this wit, I tell ya. Sharp as a tack.”

“You won fair and square,” Rize conceded. “Well done. Although, I would say that your persistent years of practice put you at an advantage.”

“Well, here’s your incentive to practice more.” Grumman picked up the king piece and dangled it from his fingers. “You’ll beat me again someday, I know it. My wit’s in your genes, and I’m getting old! Can’t be this good forever, you know.” With a laugh, he placed the piece back on the board and rose from his chair, pausing a moment to cough into his handkerchief. “Come with me, would ya? I’ve got something I want you to see.”

Curious, and not wanting to shoot him down, Riza followed the Führer out of his study and down one of the long hallways. Framed pictures of Grumman’s boundless travels lined the bland beige walls, dating as far back as the seventies. Odd, Riza thought. She’d visited weekly for months, but had somehow never seen them before. She recognized the woman beside Grumman in some of the black-and-white photos; she was spitting image of Riza herself, save for light-colored eyes, daintier features and short curly hair.  _ His wife, _ she thought with a frown.  _ Grandmother. _

Grumman watched her pause. He cleared his throat, shoving his handkerchief back in his pocket and stepping beside Riza. “Noticed that, did you?” he asked. “You look almost exactly like her.”

Riza smiled a little. “I’ve never seen pictures of her before. Mother never said anything about her family. I didn’t even know what grandparents were until I started school, when the other students talked about theirs.”

“Your father’s parents were gone, I take it?”

She nodded. “Long before I was born.” Riza couldn’t take her eyes off the couple in the photograph. They held each other tight, posing mid-laugh beside a tremendous elephant, wearing the most bizarre clothes she’d ever seen. “What was her name?”

“Eleanor,” said Grumman, a deep fondness in his tone. “I met her when I first started my military career. She was a secretary for my superior. We were both adventurous and noncommittal, so we dated on and off for many years, but we finally realized that we wanted to be adventurous together. So we were. My career stopped us from constant travel, but we took time off whenever we could. We enjoyed a rather rambunctious life. Until the end.”

Silence passed between them. Riza was struck by her resemblance to her grandmother, down to the shape of her eyes. It was comforting, strangely, as if Eleanor was reaching out from the past to touch her shoulder. Riza’s father had always insisted that she looked like her mother, but perhaps her mother simply looked like Eleanor. The female genetics were strong in this family.

“Well. Enough of that.” Grumman waved for Riza to follow as he turned down the hall again. “Funny you pointed Ellie out, actually, because of what I want to show you.”

Riza followed Grumman through the main foyer. A grand cherry hearth and matching bright green sofas were the centerpieces of the sitting room. Suits of armor from different cultures stood proud in every corner, and various indigenous masks hung all over the walls. Grumman didn’t go to any of these objects. Instead, he retrieved something small from the mantle and summoned Riza to his side.

“This was Ellie’s wedding ring,” said Grumman as he offered it. A weighty diamond sat in the middle of a silver setting, surrounded by a circle of other diamonds, forming a flower. “I know you’re a modest girl, so the ring might not suit you, but I have no other living family. You’ll inherit everything I own when the time comes. My money, Ellie’s possessions, all that junk in the storage units I’ve been paying for for thirty years.” He placed the ring in her hands. “All of it’s yours.”

“Mine?” Riza questioned, aghast. Her brown eyes were wide. “Are you sure?”

Grumman nodded and turned away from her, almost sheepish. “I’ve been, uh. Keeping an eye on you. You probably didn’t know. I’m sneaky for an old man! But I’ve been watching you over the years, you see.” He scratched his head, eyes downcast. “I’ll admit, I was sad to hear of your enlistment. I would’ve done anything to spare you the things you saw in that desert. Or before, even. What your father did to you…”

Riza stood frozen still. She held her grandmother’s ring like a bomb that would fire with the slightest twitch.

“Ellie and I never wanted to be parents. Your mother was unplanned. Unwanted, at first. Still, we couldn’t bring ourselves to give away our Elizabeth when she was born, so we kept her.” Grumman sighed. “We were shit parents. She wanted her freedom and neither of us let her have it. We controlled her with nannies and private tutoring and outside education, expecting other people to raise her while we went on with our lives. It was only when she got old enough to realize our mistakes that _ we _ realized how much we really loved her. She was gone two years later. Married that alchemist Hawkeye, had you. We never saw her again.”

Riza blinked, the pieces all falling into place. Her expression was riddled with a knowing sorrow. He wasn’t telling her this out of kindness. “You’re dying.”

Grumman nodded. “Six months, at most.”

Riza sat down on the sofa to keep her knees from giving out. How was she supposed to feel? She didn’t know Grumman very well, but hearing the story of her mother along with the announcement of his illness left her overwhelmed. She clutched the ring tight. “I’m sorry you and my mother were so estranged.”

“Me too, kid.” Grumman faced her. “If I had been a better father, perhaps your mother would have stayed around. Your father wouldn’t have marked you like that. I’ll never forget when you showed your back to the jury that day, you know. I’ll carry that guilt to my grave.”

“Please don’t,” said Riza, her throat tightening. “You aren’t responsible for my father’s actions.”

“I’m responsible for mine, which is enough.” Grumman sat down on the sofa beside Riza, taking her hands in his. They were cold, wrinkled and rough. She saw the subtle glint of tears in his eyes. “I’m dogshit at this emotional stuff. I prefer humor. But I want you to know, Riza, that I’m…” He cleared his throat. “I’m very proud of you. And I’m sorry.”

Riza managed a sad smile. She’d been given mercy for her far more serious crimes, and there was no reason she should withhold forgiveness from him. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Grumman’s shoulders, rubbing his back as he pulled her close. “Thank you.”

Grumman sniffled in woeful reply.

After a time, Riza pulled away. She opened Grumman’s palm and placed her grandmother’s ring there, closing his fingers around it. “You’re not dead yet,” she told him. “Keep it for now. Don’t rush this.”

“Death’s on nobody’s schedule,” chuckled Grumman. “But if that’s what you want.”

Riza stood from the sofa, shoulders much heavier than they were before. “I should get going. Hayate needs…” She caught herself then. What did he need that was more important than spending time with a dying man? Her only family? She looked down to Hayate, who was curled up at her feet, content. “Actually, we’ll eat dinner here tonight if that’s okay. I’m sure Hayate won’t mind.”

Grumman seemed surprised, but not displeased. “You’re more than welcome. That dog of yours needs some good meat, eh?” He hopped from his seat and moved quickly toward the kitchen. “How about beef and potatoes? My cook, Lily, makes an  _ excellent _ Cretan roast.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Riza leaned down to pet Hayate, who panted happily. It was a cruel twist of fate that would steal her grandfather away so soon after they’d begun nurturing a friendship, but unlike so many others she’d lost, they’d been given the gift of time. Riza intended to use it to its fullest potential.

**21 APRIL, 1926  
** **MADAME’S CHATEAU**

“…and then he died! Right there next to her.”

“That’s horrible,” murmured one of Roy’s sisters, a bubbly blonde named Abigail. She and Vanessa were deep in a conversation about the many horror stories of escorting. Apparently one of the older men Harriet had serviced the other day died in the bed next to her after sex. That was one way to go out, Roy supposed.

“What do you think, Roy? Is that how you’d like to die?” Vanessa slung her arm around Roy’s slumped frame. The three of them were sitting at the bar in their aunt’s establishment, fully rebuilt and expanded after the explosion many years past. “I can see the headlines now: Führer Roy Mustang, Dead by Coitus.”

Roy barely grinned. Vanessa and Abby exchanged worried looks. Only Aunt Chris addressed him openly, drying a pint glass with a rag on the other side of the bar. “You alright, Roy?” she asked in that hoarse voice of hers. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Drinkin’ more than you used to.”

Roy responded by downing the glass of whiskey in front of him. It seared its way down his throat. He pushed the empty cup toward Chris, indicating he’d like another.

“Not until you start talkin’,” she said.

Roy sighed, the burden on his back weighing heavy. “Nothing gets past you, does it?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping it would relieve the headache. “There’s just a lot going on right now.”

“Such as?”

“Well…” He groaned. “No, actually. There’s  _ nothing _ going on.” Roy dropped his hand to the table. “I’ve been helping Old Man Grumman with his work, but other than that, there are no missions, no secret jobs, nothing. I don’t have a damn clue why he pulled me from Eastern Command where I’m useful. All I do now is paperwork. I hate paperwork.”

“Don’t act like a child,” scolded Chris, refilling his glass as promised. “You got promoted. You’re almost as high-ranking as they come now, aside from being the Führer. Major General Mustang. You’re the youngest to ever get so far.” She refilled his glass and lit a cigarette for herself. “So what’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“I like staying busy, Chris. It keeps me distracted.”

“From?”

“Everything.” He took a drink of whiskey. “I feel like my purpose is gone.”

“It’s really killing you, isn’t it?” asked Abigail, moving from the seat next to Vanessa so she could sit beside Roy. She rubbed his back in comforting circles. “Maybe Riza would help. Why don’t you talk to the Führer? Didn’t he give you his blessing to get married?”

“It’s not that easy, Abby,” snapped Roy. “We made a promise to each other that we wouldn’t be together until I was the Führer. If we quit early, it would spit in the face of everything we’ve worked decades to accomplish. Besides, Riza would have to retire and couldn’t work with me anymore. She’s the best I’ve got.”

“Well, yeah, but come on. No one deserves happiness more than you two.”

Roy, remembering the Ishvalans, drank.

“Abby,” said Vanessa, taking her sister by the arm. “Why don’t we get back to training the new hires? Let Roy talk to the Madame alone.”

“Fine, fine. Just know we support you.” Abby kissed Roy’s cheek and left with her sister, disappearing around the corner. Most of the escorts Roy grew up with were trainers now, only working on special occasions. They were getting old, too.

“I’m a monster,” muttered Roy into his glass.

“Stop that shit. You’ve suffered enough.” Chris placed her hand atop Roy’s whiskey, pushing the cup down to the table, refusing him a sip. He looked her in the eyes. “This isn’t just about work and the girl. It’s about alchemy, too. I haven’t seen you transmute in years.”

Roy’s throat burned. “I can’t.”

“You can’t make fire, but what about other transmutations? You can do those, right?”

“I  _ can’t. _ ” Roy looked down to the table. His hands shook. “Every time I think about it, I see the faces of the Ishvalan jury. Of all those victims,  _ my _ victims. You can’t imagine it, Chris, this weight on me. I can’t even bring myself to fix a radio.” He scoffed bitterly. “All my life spent devoted to alchemy, and now I’m just... useless.”

Chris snatched the whiskey from him, much to Roy’s surprise. “Sounds to me like you need one of those doctors. The kind your friend saw before he died.”

_ Hughes. _ Roy hadn’t thought of that. He paused, considering.

“It’s a damn shame you haven’t seen one already. I know people don’t take them seriously, but that might be your best option.” She pointed to her greying temple. “I can’t help you with war stuff. Maybe someone else can.”

“You really think so?” he asked. Roy supposed that if he were feeling sick in his lungs or stomach, he would consult a doctor to relieve his symptoms. It made sense to see one for an ill brain, too. Didn’t it? “You might be right. It’s so hard to think straight when I have no distractions, no drive. I feel so muddled. It’s a dark place.”

“To say the least.” Chris filled a new cup full of water and handed it to him, which he eagerly drank. “You’ll be okay. You and your girl have been through worse. With Grumman’s health the way it is, it’s only a matter of time before you’re leading this country.”

Roy frowned. “I’d rather not think of his death as a way to feel better. I just need to stay focused. Thanks, auntie. I appreciate you listening to me.” Roy chugged what remained of his water before grabbing his coat. “Mind calling me a taxi? I’m too drunk to drive home.”

“Sure thing, kiddo. See ya later.” Chris picked up the telephone and waved as Roy left the Chateau, his jacket slung over his back, his shoulders a little more straight.

When Roy arrived home, he dropped his keys on the table beside the door and slumped down onto his couch, rubbing his tired face. Even his apartment was in disarray. Boxes were stacked carelessly in corners, atop the counters and coffee table. His kitchen held enough dinnerware for maybe half a person, and the contents of his refrigerator were laughable. Twenty years ago, Roy would’ve turned this place into the perfect habitat for a bachelor. He didn’t see the point now.

After a half hour of laying around, Roy forced himself to take a shower. He pulled on a pair of clean pajamas and lazily crawled into bed, grateful that he had the next morning off, and closed his eyes to rest.

_ You need one of those doctors. The kind your friend saw. _ Roy couldn’t sleep, his aunt’s pestering words swirling in his mind like the liquor in his gut. People were skeptical about invisible illnesses, but it was beginning to make sense to Roy. Maybe the reason Hughes was always so positive wasn’t just because of his family, but also the medical help he received to work through his grief. What must it be like, Roy wondered, to live not only with a spark of hope for his country, but for himself? What would it feel like to care for himself again? Without thinking, Roy reached for his nightstand phone and dialed Gracia’s number.

_ “Hello?” _ said the groggy woman who answered the phone.

“Gracia.” Roy cleared his throat. “It’s me.”

_ “Roy?” _ Gracia perked up at the sound of his voice.  _ “God, it’s been years. I’d ask how you are, but do you know what time it is?” _

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m a little drunk.” Roy rubbed his eyes. “Listen, I have a favor to ask. Remember the letter you sent me when I was in prison?”

Gracia hesitated.  _ “Yes.” _

“I’m going to need the name of the doctor Hughes saw. If it’s not too much trouble.”

There was a long pause.  _ “Okay. Do you have a pen and paper?” _

“No, give me a second.” Roy fumbled through the darkness and yanked the metal cord to turn on his nightstand lamp. From a drawer, he pulled a used notepad and a chewed pencil. He rolled on his side to write. He took the information from Gracia, including a phone number and an address, which he left on the nightstand for consultation in the morning. “Thanks, Grace. Means a lot.”

_ “Of course.” _

“Goodnight.”

_ “Wait,” _ said Gracia with urgency.  _ “Would you like to meet for coffee tomorrow? Elycia would love to see you. I would too. You have people who care about you, Roy. Don’t forget that.” _

Roy smiled. “Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow when I can think and we'll set up a place and time.”

_ “Okay. Goodnight, Roy.” _

“‘Night, Grace.”

**5 AUGUST, 1926  
** **CENTRAL COMMAND**

Unlike her antsy General, Major Hawkeye had been quite busy over the past several months. Between training new recruits, establishing the Soldier’s Welfare Bureau and spending time with Grumman, she barely did anything for herself. She enjoyed a bubble bath once a week and had invested in several books to pass what little free time she had, but otherwise, it was all work. All progress. She’d whipped over a hundred new soldiers into acceptable shape and established protocol promoting transparency among the ranks. Under Bradley, there was no system in place to ensure every new recruit had proper housing, food and medical care, and no assistance was offered to those in need. Riza’s new Bureau would be the antidote.

Around midday, after cleaning up from a fast lunch, Riza left her Central office, carrying a stack of paperwork intended for Grumman’s signature. He’d taken to staying at the mansion lately, leaving his dull duties to Roy while he focused on diplomacy and fighting his cancer. He’d already lived longer than the doctors initially expected. Prospects were hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, he would make a full recovery, giving Riza the time she so desperately wanted more of.

Riza passed a bulletin board in the hallway. After a few steps, she stopped and turned back, noticing a flier she hadn’t seen the day before. The lettering was big and bold and blue, and a man was pictured on the left, holding his head in his hands.

**Are YOU taking care of your MENTAL HEALTH?  
** **MENTAL HEALTH is defined as a CONDITION regarding your  
** **PSYCHOLOGICAL and EMOTIONAL well-being. Many SOLDIERS  
** **suffer from POOR MENTAL HEALTH, our studies find. Improving  
** **your HEALTH can improve your LIFE.  
** **Would YOU like to test YOUR mental health and aid the progression  
** **of this NEW, GROUND-BREAKING STUDY? Your health is IMPORTANT!  
** **Call DR. BEERS at the NUMBER BELOW to schedule your  
** **first appointment at a DISCOUNTED RATE!**

Riza would’ve laughed at the scam if it hadn’t been such a huge success. A number of soldiers had been pouring into Dr. Beers’s office and making appointments with his team of so-called therapists, claiming after a few months of visits that their lives had steadily improved. Even Roy had been turned — he was the one who’d launched the military-wide campaign to encourage men and women to seek this new help. “It’s hard at first,” the General had told her, “but when I finally opened up to the guy, it changed me. I don’t know, Hawkeye. They might be able to really help people.”

Help though they may, Riza had no intention of seeing a therapist. Doctors and experimentation were of no interest to her. She still vividly remembered the man with the golden tooth. The sting of her father’s needle. 

“You lookin’ to sign up, sir?” said Second Lieutenant Green, one of the newest members of Riza’s team. He was a bright kid, only twenty and already a Lieutenant, rising through the ranks as fast as he could, not unlike Roy. He stood beside her at the bulletin. His soft green eyes were bright with potential. “I’ve heard that a lot of civil war and Promised Day vets are checkin’ it out.”

“Are they?” Riza turned back to the poster. “I’m not looking to sign up. I haven’t seen this flier before, so it caught me off-guard.”

“Ah, okay.” 

Riza adjusted the stack of papers in her arms, not wanting to dwell on the topic. “Well, I don’t want to keep you. I was on my way to see the Führer. These are for him.”

“Oh! I can take those for you if you’d like, sir.” Green showed her the clipboard he’d tucked under his arm. “I was going to see General Mustang anyway about finalizing funding for the university. He’s with the Führer now.”

“Is he?” said Riza. She wasn’t surprised; the two spent as much time together as they could, these days. “Well, if you insist. I do have several phone calls to make. You’d save me a trip.”

“Anything to help,” said Green with a toothy smile. That was the Lieutenant, always offering a compassionate hand. He took the papers from Riza and balanced them rather efficiently against his chest. “I’ll bring these back when His Excellency has signed ‘em, sir.”

“Thank you very much.” Riza smiled in appreciation and returned to her office, feeling positive on her ability to finish her work for the day.

It was strange being apart from Roy. The two of them took their work mostly separate once Grumman took interest in training him for the position of Führer personally. Riza had kept her post as his bodyguard for a time, but after weeks of standing watch outside a room she wasn’t allowed in, Roy felt that her skills were being wasted and convinced her to take on a side project. “I’m not in danger here,” he assured her. “Who’s gonna attack this place in broad daylight? It isn’t 1914 anymore.” Working with her own team was rewarding, and Riza was proud of her drastic increase in productivity, but she missed Roy’s presence. His jokes, even.

The rest of the day ticked by without issue. Riza was on her final stretch of phone calls, inquiries to the wealthy families of Amestris to ask if they would donate to her cause, when the door opened. Roy closed it behind him. “Done yet, Major?” he asked.

Riza hung up the phone before she dialed a number. Smiling, she stood and saluted. “General Mustang. What a pleasant surprise.”

Roy approached her desk, pressing his hands on the surface and leaning forward, eyeing the paperwork. “How’s it goin’ over here? Getting things done?”

“More than I would if I were with you,” she quipped.

“Heh. That’s probably true.” Roy looked up at her. Riza would have noted how close their faces were, if not for the sorrow in his eyes. Something was off.

“General?”

Roy sighed. His shoulders released their tension. “We need to talk, Hawkeye. It’s about Grumman.”

Riza lost her smile. 

“He’s not doing well. We were talking just an hour ago, then I left to take a phone call. When I got back, he was laying on the floor, coughing uncontrollably. There was blood.”

“What?” Riza snatched her coat from her chair, pulse pounding in her ears. “Why didn’t you tell me the moment it happened?”

“I thought I’d come and tell you in person.”

Riza scrambled for her car keys, her hands shaking. “I was just with him three days ago and he was fine. He was up walking around. He even went up the stairs unaided, sir. He hasn’t done that in weeks. I thought he was recovering.” 

“We all did,” said Roy, following Riza toward the door. Before she could turn the handle, he grabbed her by the arm, and she went still. His voice took a somber tone. “Listen. I need you to prepare yourself.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

_ I know, _ she could hear him say, though he didn’t say it. “Just trust me on this. I don’t want you to go in blind.”

Riza took a deep breath and slowly released, stopping a wave of panic before it arose. Her muscles relaxed under his grip. “I’ll be alright. Thanks for the warning, sir.”

She left in haste.

By the time Riza arrived at Grumman’s home, the outer walkway was swarming with cameras and journalists. The press had gotten wind of the Führer’s condition and were eager for a statement. Riza shoved past all of them and ordered the guards to push them off the grounds. She moved fast through the mansion, past Grumman’s odd trinkets and treasures, past the hanging photographs, and up to his bedroom where she’d find him. Not a single nurse blocked her way.

The bedridden ghost looked nothing like Riza’s grandfather, pale as snow and sweating. His skin was as thin as paper, eyes cloudy. Grumman smiled when he saw her. “There she is,” he said. “Come here, would ya? We’ve got one more round of chess to play.”

Riza hated to be reminded of her father’s final days. He’d screamed at her across the house to bring him whatever he needed, denying the care of nurses, forcing her to face it all alone. Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t speak, much less move, and stood in the doorway like a frightened child.

“Still up for a game?” Roy broke the tension, placing a hand on Riza’s shoulder and stepping past. It shouldn’t surprise her that he’d followed her in. He cared about Grumman just as much as she did, and in her heart, Riza knew he was there for her, too. “You need to sleep, old man. You’re not gonna recover with chess.”

“Piss on that.” Grumman laughed, then coughed. “Come here, both of you. Tell me about your day, Riza. I hear you’re getting funding for your project?”

Riza tried her best to mask her sorrow. She didn’t want Grumman to see her distraught. She draped her coat over the back of a chair, which she pulled up to the side of his bed. And they talked, the three of them, for hours. After Riza explained what she was doing with the Welfare Bureau, they didn’t speak of the military at all, instead discussing life and death, their favorite books, the best new music coming from the nation’s youth. Grumman told tales of his travels with Eleanor that Riza hadn’t heard before, some far more inappropriate than she expected, but she soaked in every word like the most eager sponge. She would never hear these stories again.

“General,” said Riza after her grandfather had fallen asleep, pulling her keys from her pocket. Roy was sitting on the other side of the bed in silence, but he turned when she spoke. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Hayate should be here.” She tossed her keys to him. Roy caught them in one hand. “Would you mind bringing him? Be careful walking up and down the stairs, they’re hard on his hips. And I could use a change of clothes for tonight.”

“Sure.” Roy slowly stood. He walked around to the other side of the bed where Riza sat, and she looked up at him, his words of sympathy heard but unspoken. He opened his mouth to say something, but settled for a gentle hand on her shoulder. Roy squeezed her for support, then left.

An hour passed. While Roy was gone, Riza was visited by the physician and given the dire news she already suspected. To bury her grief, she went to Grumman’s study and picked out a book on philosophy he’d recommended. She was four chapters in when she heard him stir and mutter something.

“What was that, Grumman?” she asked, closing the book and leaning forward.

“Knight to G3,” he said. He opened his eyes and winked at her.

She couldn’t help but smile. Riza stood, walking to the chess board by the window — how many boards did he have? — and moved the ivory knight as he’d said. “Pawn to H5,” she answered. The game was on.

Their final match was a ruthless one. Grumman did not let up, even on his deathbed, but by some miracle she managed to be victorious. “Checkmate,” she said, pinning his king between her queen and a rook. “I finally beat you.”

“So the pupil becomes the master,” said Grumman.

“You let me win.”

“Did not. Führer Grumman never lets a man off the hook.” 

The laughter did not last long. Riza rushed to his side when Grumman began to choke, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding his hand through the coughing spell. When it was over, he pulled his handkerchief from his mouth. It was stained red. 

“I’m not going to miss this part,” he jested. A nurse came and exchanged his dirty handkerchief for a new one. Riza sat there, frowning, knowing she could do nothing to aid him.

“I’m sorry.” Riza kept his hand in hers.

“Why? Death comes for everyone in the end. As much as I’d like to stick around, I’m at the door. It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” said Riza, her voice thick. “I’m just sorry that we didn’t have more time.”

“So am I, kid. So am I.” He squeezed her hand. “Any chance I could push for that great-grandkid one more time? I’ll be watching from the grave, you know.”

Riza chuckled in sorrow. “You should know the answer to that by now. Amestris is the child we chose. Our greatest duty is to raise her, more than anything else.”

“Funny. Mustang said that same thing, once.” Grumman smirked. “It was worth a shot.” He turned his head to look out the window, letting long moments of silence and contemplation pass, neither one of them moving from their spots. Sunlight bled in from the outside. The gold accents on the chess table began to shine, reflecting stars around the room.

“Promise me something, kid.” Tears welled in Grumman’s eyes and spilled onto the pillow beneath him. “I want you to be happier than your mother. Than Ellie and me. I want you to be happier than everyone who came before you. Will you promise me, Riza? Promise me you’ll be happy. It’s what you deserve.”

“I promise,” said Riza, though she remained unsure if she deserved such a thing. A great sadness engulfed her. Riza’s throat burned, but she stayed unwilling to weep before a dying man. She placed Grumman’s hands over his stomach and stood, tucking him in, smoothing out the warm blankets. “Don’t worry about me, grandfather. I’ll be alright.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead with affection, refusing to let go of him.

Three days later, he died.

**12 AUGUST, 1926  
** **CENTRAL CITY MEMORIAL CEMETERY**

During his reign as the leader of Amestris, Führer Grumman calmed and corrected the damage that the homunculi had reaped on the nation. His nine years in office saw Amestris turned down a healing path. History would remember him as a witty commander and passionate leader, but Roy would remember him as the eccentric chess master who dressed up as a woman to stay undercover, who kept sixty years of strange travel souvenirs and always bothered him to marry his granddaughter. Roy would remember him as a mentor. The best he ever had.

Military and political figures from neighboring nations attended the graveside funeral service. It was a hot day with a clear sky hanging over the procession, better suited to a wedding than a funeral. Roy served as one of the pallbearers, carrying Old Man Grumman to his final resting place beside his wife near the bottom of the hill. Not the most obvious place for a Führer to rest, but Grumman would have it no other way. When it was time, the burial flag was folded and presented to Riza in the front row, who did not attend as a member of the military, but as Grumman’s only kin. She took it carefully from the soldier who presented it to her, resting it on her lap, tracing her fingers over the stitched emerald dragon. Guns fired their salute. Mourners wept. Roy watched Colonel Armstrong offer Riza a tissue, which she kindly declined.

Grumman wanted his funeral reception to be a party. The high-class kind, like a fundraising event or a gala. A celebration. Though quiet at first, the reception thrown at the Führer’s manor paralleled no other. There was a live band and music, drinks and finger foods and lavish décor. Most of the people who knew Grumman personally were not surprised by this, and danced, drank and laughed the night away in the late Führer’s memory. Even those who didn’t know him well loosened up with time. His ghost seemed to dance with them. Roy watched and participated from a safe distance, already swarmed with prospects and proposals for when he inevitably took office. It unsettled him how fast politicians acted on the turnaround, but it couldn’t be helped. Roy engaged them until he lost Riza’s blonde head in the crowd. He couldn’t locate her on the main floor either, which was his cue to stop and search.

By instinct, he knew where she’d be. Roy ascended the stairs to the second level of the manse. Outside the study where she and Grumman would play chess, Riza stood alone on the stone balcony, cradling a drink, looking out over the flower gardens. The hydrangeas were in full bloom, dots of red and gold and fuschia littering every bush. Soon they would wither and die with the change of seasons, but their color was brilliant today, even moreso against the black funeral garb the partygoers donned. Roy wanted to believe they bloomed for her.

He opened the door to the balcony. Riza must’ve known he was there, but she didn’t move to look at him, nor give a greeting gesture. The sounds of the party dulled around them. Roy moved to stand at her side, offering silent company and nothing more, because more was not needed. He heard her sniffle beside him.

Riza’s free hand rested on the balcony. Wordlessly, Roy reached over and placed his hand over hers, fingers curling around the edge of her palm. She squeezed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( pour one out for old man grumman, best matchmaker in town  
> also this is my first chapter without an editor so sorry that it's so shit lmao  
> see you next week! it's all uphill from here xoxo


	5. Jubilee

**18 AUGUST, 1928  
** **CENTRAL COMMAND**

The torch of power had been passed.

Not long after the death of Führer Grumman, Führer Roy Mustang was appointed to lead Amestris. He had achieved his final and greatest promotion, his most ambitious goal, adding the last golden star to his uniform. The public initially held mixed feelings about Roy’s rule. Many had heard the graphic testimonies against him during the Ishvalan war trials, while others were unsure what to make of a half-Xingese orphan raised by prostitutes governing the nation. None of the talk fazed Roy. He had overcome every obstacle, and once command was his, he’d set to work making good on past promises.

Roy’s first action as Führer was to sign a declaration officially releasing Ishval from Amestrian control, granting them their independence. Any Amestrian living within the new Ishvalan borders had one year to leave, unless they had already immigrated with permission of the Ishvalan Council. He’d implemented new trading towns between Amestris and every neighboring country, taken funding from the military and applied it to education on a national scale, and brokered a full peace treaty with Drachma. The State Alchemist Program was disbanded, its ranks either absorbed into the military or honorably discharged. He’d even traveled across the desert to visit Emperor Ling Yao and discuss international cooperation. The Emperor and Princess May were happy to provide Roy with missing cultural information as well, providing sufficient background on his heritage.

Looking back at his first two years of leadership, Roy was proud of the life he and those who aided him had breathed back into the country he loved. 

But there was still something missing. A hole he could not fill alone.

Roy folded his hands atop his desk, twirling his thumbs, mind racing. The clock had passed eight in the morning and Riza had yet to show up to work. Her desk was on the other side of the room from his, having both insisted that they share a space despite her numerous projects. And it was empty.

Someone knocked. “Come in,” said Roy. He was surprised to see Colonel Armstrong enter and salute, his massive form as intimidating as ever.

“Your Excellency,” said Alex, looking as though he’d just run a mile. His face was flushed and his breathing, heavy. “I have urgent news.”

“Do you?” Roy tried to swallow the panic that surged. Was it Riza? Was she okay?

Alex came to the Führer’s desk and sat in one of the plush chairs just before it. He took a deep breath, then beamed. “My wife is pregnant.”

Roy released his tension. “Oh. That’s great, Colonel. Congratulations.” For the life of him, Roy could not imagine _how_ a conception had happened. The size difference between Alex and his wife alone made it seem impossible.

“Thank you. We just discovered it this morning. She requested that I not tell too many people, but I can’t seem to keep my mouth closed. To think, I will have a child to pass down all the alchemic arts and traditions of the Armstrong line!” Alex laughed, and much to Roy’s appreciation, his shirt stayed on. Marriage and age had tamed his once-excessive persona, but he was still golden-hearted and good-natured as ever. “I also came to report to duty, sir. I will be your assistant for the next three days.”

“Huh?” Roy raised his brow. “What about Hawkeye?”

“I’m not sure. She called the office an hour ago and said she would need three days of leave for an emergency. I thought you might know what happened.”

“No,” said Roy. “She hasn’t told me.” Roy leaned back in his seat, rubbing his chin. Just yesterday, Riza had been fine, even engaging in the borderline flirtatious banter they’d exchanged for months. Most of the staff gossiped, of course, but no one dared say a thing against them. Their story was well known. Their devotion to each other, even more.

So why hadn’t Riza said anything?

Roy dwelled on it all day. He couldn’t focus through meetings or phone calls or the damned paperwork. The following day was much the same. Riza didn’t so much as send a note to explain how she was doing or what went wrong, which told him she was suffering. Roy knew her better than anyone. If she were well, she would have said so, if only to stop him from worrying.

That Friday after sunset, dressed in slacks and suspenders, Roy swung by the flower shop Gracia worked for. He purchased a handmade glass vase with intricate woven patterns and a bouquet of camellias. “Do these flowers have any special meaning?” he asked the elderly woman who ran the business. “Yes,” she replied with a chuckle. “The red ones mean, ‘you’re a flame in my heart.’”

Bingo.

Roy drove himself to Riza’s apartment, his thumbs tapping on the leather steering wheel. The flowers sat in the lap of Second Lieutenant Green, who had replaced Armstrong as his bodyguard for the night. Another car of servicemen followed behind him. Damn security. The one thing Roy and Bradley had in common was the irritation over constant supervision. He wanted the dignity of seeing Riza alone; he’d earned as much.

“Stay outside,” Roy ordered the Lieutenant as he exited the car, vase in hand. “I don’t need you in the room with us.”

“But -- But Your Excellency,” argued Green. “Isn’t that, um, inappropriate sir?”

Roy simply groaned, ignoring the gasps of bystanders who gawked at the sight of the Führer walking so openly in the city streets, and with flowers no less. “You know what, Lieutenant? I’m really sick of being asked that question.”

He entered the complex. As ordered, the servicemen and Lieutenant Green remained posted at the top of the stairwell and down the hall, so that Roy and Riza might have some much-needed privacy. He knocked at her door, expression riddled with concern.

She didn’t answer.

“Hawkeye?” Roy called. “It’s me.”

After a moment, he heard the latches click. The door swung open. Riza looked a mess, unkempt blonde hair spilling down to her waist, her eyes red and puffy. She was wearing pajama shorts and a big sweater, holding a cup of tea in one hand.

She was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.

Forgetting themselves, they allowed time to pass, staring at each other’s appearances in disbelief before Riza broke the silence. She stood at attention and saluted. “Führer Mustang,” she said.

“Don’t do that.” Beautiful though she was, Riza was burdened by something, enough to make her isolate. It was everywhere, in her eyes, her skin, her posture. “Can I come in?”

Riza lowered her hand. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir?”

“Not really.” Roy grinned and held out the vase. “But these flowers have to go somewhere.”

She managed a tiny smile. Riza opened the door and stepped down the hall into the kitchen, and Roy followed her, closing the door as he crossed the threshold.

Riza’s apartment was bare and bland, a brown sofa and coffee table her only notable furniture pieces. A short chair sat by a little window overlooking the moonlit streets, and a radio adorned the countertop. Even her drapes were standard issue. Her space didn’t look lived in, the only trait notably _her_ being a bookshelf in the corner, stacked with novels and gun manuals.

Roy watched Riza refill her cup of tea. “Where should I put the vase?” he asked.

Riza set down her cup and came to him, taking the vase from his hands, leaning in to smell the flowers. Ease worked its way into her features. “They’re beautiful.”

“I got them from the place where Gracia works. The vase, too.”

“You finally bought me one after all.” Riza turned, placing it on the kitchen counter near the south-facing window, admiring the petals. “Thank you, sir.”

“Expect a lot of flowers in your future,” he said with a chuckle. “They don’t call me a friendly neighborhood florist for nothing.”

Her smile lingered, until it fell. She moved to the couch with her tea, sitting down, covering her legs with a quilt that looked distinctly Ishvalan. Religious symbols were dotted along little olive trees and sand dunes, and above it all, the great brown hands of Ishvala opened to the world below. “Where’d you get that?” Roy asked, trying to make small talk.

“Sarah sent it to me,” said Riza. “Do you remember the little girl whose doll we rescued? She’s sixteen now. We send letters back and forth from time to time. This was a birthday present from her and her family, if you can believe it.”

“I had no idea.” Riza was so kind, especially with children, just as she was with the Elrics and Winry way back when. “You make a good role model.”

“Hardly, sir.”

Roy put his hands in his pockets. It was bizarre to be with her in a moment of weakness now that he was the Führer. So much of their time had been spent fulfilling promises, passing policy and traveling that there was no time to just... stop. To simply _be._ “Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”

Riza took a breath, then released. He recognized the look on her face, the struggle to rein in tears. She hated crying in front of him. He knew as much. The only sound between them was the tick, tick, tick of the clock hanging on the wall above the radio. 

The missing element hit him quickly. There was no panting, no click of nails on tile. No barking or sniffing at his pockets for treats. No black, furry shape curled up at Riza’s side.

Hayate’s dog bed was empty.

“Oh, no.” Roy ran a hand down his face. “No.”

“I woke up Tuesday morning to come to work,” said Riza, her voice hollow. “He was right by my side until the end.”

“Shit.” Roy ran his fingers through his hair. If there was ever a solid support system for Riza, it was her trusted Shiba pup. Hayate had lived a long life full of love and devotion. He’d saved her in several different ways, several different times, and never once turned down a new friend. Even Roy felt the sting at the back of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, sir. He had a good life. That’s all I can really ask for.” 

Roy watched her sip her tea. Her hand was shaking, but she remained cool and composed as ever. As her father had instructed her.

Roy came to Riza’s side and sat on the couch beside her, heart hammering, knowing his position and their relatively slowed lives granted him liberties neither of them had ever known. He reached forward and took one of her hands, holding it between both of his. “You can cry in front of me, you know. You’re human.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“I know. I know you will.” Roy moved closer. “That’s not the point, Hawkeye. I can help you get there. I _want_ to help.”

“I’m not sure how you can.” Riza looked into his eyes, her face so close to his, and she was still beautiful. “You’ve already shouldered enough of my problems.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” Roy brushed his thumb along the back of her knuckles, keeping their gazes locked. His hands yearned for more of her. The lines, the territory separating her from him, had blurred. “Did you think your dedication to me was one-sided all these years?”

“It should have been. You’re my superior. The Führer, now.”

Roy shook his head. “By the end of the year, I’ll have a proposal sent to every delegate in Amestris on drafting a constitution for democracy. Our goals are almost done, you know. We’re so close.”

“Almost,” Riza emphasized. “Not yet.”

They stared at each other for a long time. Roy read all the hesitation in her eyes, the weight of past and present crushing her, keeping her pinned. She couldn’t reach out for him. It had always been this way. Riza kept her sadness hidden deep within, and whenever it showed, she whipped herself with shame, her call to be strong greater than all else. Roy had witnessed Master Hawkeye enforce this reaction time and time again. Even Roy had done so. Her tears were never shared in front of him, not even now, when he asked to see.

He stood. Roy moved to the radio by the window and turned it on, twisting the dial until he found a decent station. Jazzy with a slower tempo, soothing. He turned to her. “Dance with me.”

Riza nearly choked on her tea. “Excuse me?”

“Dance with me,” Roy said again, coming back to the sofa to offer his hand. “You’re right. Our goals are _almost_ done. But that won’t stop me from being here with you now, when you need me.”

Riza’s eyes wavered. A sad, warm smile spread across her face, and she took Roy’s hand, setting her teacup on the table. Roy pulled her into his arms and swayed with her. The closeness was familiar -- it was the same adrenaline-inducing touch that fueled him at Grumman’s gala and Ed and Winry’s wedding, the same boundless connection. Perhaps it was less about the dance and more about the contact, the indulgence in something they’d long denied themselves. _Almost done,_ he reminded himself. _Almost. Almost._

Roy felt her sigh. Before he could study her face, Riza pulled her hand from his, sliding her arms around his body in a tight embrace. Her breathing was labored and slow. More battles with tears. If she intended to fight, he would not let her fight alone. He never had.

“He was a good boy,” Roy offered.

“He was,” whimpered Riza. “The best.”

To comfort her, and also himself, Roy hugged Riza tight to his chest, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

**25 AUGUST, 1928  
** **THE OFFICE OF DR. SHELTON**

Riza bounced her leg. An old habit from childhood. The lobby of the doctor’s office was empty save for her, the walls lined with black chairs and fliers for different rehabilitation programs. She kept her hands in her lap to maintain a front, a calm composure, but failed miserably. Her leg could not keep still. She brushed out her skirt for something to do. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the exits.

“I know you’ve been having a hard time,” Roy had told her three days prior, frowning as he looked into her eyes. “You’ve had trouble focusing. It’s not like you.”

“I’m alright, sir,” came her persistent reply. A lie. Hayate’s passing had made the nightmares return, gripping dreams of blood and sand that had never truly left. Riza hadn’t been alright since her grandfather’s death, since the trial, the Promised Day, the Ishvalan War of Extermination, her mother’s illness. Had Riza ever truly been “alright?”

Roy had placed his hands on her upper arms. His eyes, gentle. “I know you’re stubborn. For two years you’ve fought this. But I want you to see one of the therapists, Hawkeye. You can consider that an order from the Führer. Who knows,” he’d laughed, “you may actually like it.”

And here she was. Mortified, uncomfortable and terribly uncertain, all because Roy had asked it of her.

“Major Hawkeye?” 

Riza perked up. A woman in a plain blouse and skirt read her name from a clipboard. She was middle-aged with bright red hair and kind eyes. Warily, Riza grabbed her purse and stood, following her into the next room.

The therapist’s office was a warm place, patterned wallpaper hidden by lines of bookshelves and soft paintings. Dr. Shelton must be doing well for himself. A brown leather chaise sat before a pinewood desk, which the woman went to, taking a seat in the swivel chair. Riza took the chaise. She set her purse on her lap, keeping her eyes focused on the curtained window, watching leaves fall. 

“Before we get started, I should probably introduce myself.” The woman reached across the desk and offered her hand. “My name is Dr. Shelton. It’s nice to meet you.”

Riza was taken by surprise. It showed in her hesitation to accept the handshake, but she remembered herself, taking the woman’s hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“Don’t worry about it. Women doctors are uncommon, but I’m sure you understand how much that fuels my drive to practice.”

“Certainly,” said Riza. Maybe they would get along after all.

Withdrawing her hand, Dr. Shelton opened a notebook and began writing something. Riza couldn’t read it from their distance. “You can get comfortable, Major. There’s no need to stand on ceremony with me.”

“I suppose it's a habit.” Riza leaned against the back of the chaise, which was surprisingly comfortable for leather, and propped up her feet. “I’m... not very good at this.”

“It’s okay,” chuckled the doctor, looking up and folding her hands atop her desk. “This session will mostly be to introduce ourselves and get acquainted. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Not until you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” Riza let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “It feels strange to pay someone to talk to.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. Führer Mustang already paid me for a full year of sessions for you.”

“What?” Riza sat up, aghast. 

“He handed me the money himself. Picked me personally for you.” Dr. Shelton wrote something in her notebook before looking at Riza again. “He’s a good person, our Führer, and he cares for you a great deal.”

Riza shook her head and laid back on the chaise, trying to calm her heart. She rested her hands in her lap. “Why did he pick you? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“Not at all,” said the doctor. “I was a medic in Ishval. Believe it or not, we’ve actually crossed paths, though I doubt you remember me.” She motioned to Riza. “I think he believes I’d be the best fit for you. Talking to someone with similar experiences can often help.”

Riza nodded. “I guess so.” She glanced down to her hands, no memory of this woman coming to light.

“Riza,” urged Dr. Shelton. “May I call you that?”

“Of course.”

“Riza, then.” She nodded. “This isn’t about ‘paying for someone to talk to,’ as you put it. It’s about unpacking some of the bags on your back to make your walk through life easier. I’m a professional providing a service, but please don’t think that means I don’t care. We all have our reasons for exploring this new field of medicine. Mine are to help women like you and me. The overlooked casualties of war.” Another warm smile spread across her face. “We can go at your own pace, Riza. We don’t have to cover everything. If you can walk away from this happy, I’ll know I’ve done my part.”

Riza took a breath, unsure what else to say. For thirty-nine years, she’d kept her sadness bottled for the sake of others. Kindness and humility were in her nature, but _openness?_ Honesty in matters of her own heart? Riza had spent so many years denying herself the luxury of weeping. Such things had been forbidden from her since childhood, so taboo that it was difficult to unlock herself even now, as a grown woman with purpose. 

But Roy had asked this of her. If he believed in this enough to pay for Riza’s sessions, knowing the physical and emotional toll, then she owed her trust to him. His faith in her had never shaken.

So she opened. Over the next few months, Dr. Shelton provided a pair of boltcutters, and Riza used them to snap open the dusty padlock on her past. She divulged secrets long kept, secrets of abuse and trauma and fear, how her father would make her feel like she was nothing, how her fellow snipers shot themselves after shooting others, how her grief over her mother’s death had never been attended to. Always with the grief. It was Riza’s story, one tragedy after another rising like a bloody tide, and she could never keep up.

Riza didn’t know if Dr. Shelton would be able to help her calm that tide for good. But for Roy’s sake, and for her own, she would devote herself to the cause.

**29 OCTOBER, 1928  
** **THE FÜHRER’S MANSION**

Roy eyed the piece of paper on his desk. Such a light and flimsy thing, yet it held the weight of nations. He’d drafted and redrafted at least six times until he’d found the perfect words. By the end of the day, a formal proposal for a re-empowered parliament would be sent to the offices of every Amestrian delegate. There should be a greater ceremony for something like this, Roy felt. Some sort of fanfare that played over loudspeakers or a parade through the streets of Central. But here he was, just a man at a desk, using ink to write democracy’s future. How boring.

“Your Excellency?” Holly, one of the mansion maids, cracked open the door and peeked into Roy’s office. “Sir, your guest is here. I set her up at the table in the gazebo.”

“Thanks, Holly. Be down in a minute.” Roy slipped the single-page document into a folder and addressed it. Despite the necessity of his proposal, hope in the form of paperwork went against everything Roy believed in.

The afternoon sun graced the outer gardens, though the autumn’s chill had settled in. The flowers died as the promise of winter came ever closer. Yet another turn of seasons was at its end. Roy had seen 43 years of them. He was the youngest Führer ever to take power, but still he felt ancient, having already lived too many lifetimes in his relatively short one.

“Look at you,” said the woman who awaited him. Gracia Hughes -- now McLeary -- stood from the table as Roy approached. Her hair was short and curled, her clothing modest and appropriate for the season. It was nice to see joy in her eyes. “Your Excellency.”

“Please,” Roy insisted with a chuckle. “Drop the formalities, Grace.” He came forward and embraced her. Between all his travels and constant work, he hadn’t had the time for a social life. Roy pulled away and sat down opposite her, pausing when he noticed a tray covered in a gingham rag. The smell of apples filled the air. “Did you bring pie?”

“Of course,” beamed Gracia. “I told you I would, didn’t I? This is the first time we’ve sat down to chat in years. It only felt appropriate.”

“I’m honored. Your apple pie is famous.” Roy poured her a cup of tea, relieved to reconnect. “It’s nice to see you. You look happy.”

“I am happy.” Gracia accepted the tea with thanks. “It feels strange to be married again, but Elycia convinced me that Maes would want me to move on. After being a widow for over ten years, the loneliness became too much. She was right.”

“I agree,” said Roy. “I’m sorry I missed the wedding. I was in Xing for a little longer than expected.”

“No, no. Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to meet my husband in the future. He’s a good man, and he treats me well.”

Roy took a sip of his own tea, leaning back in his seat. The two of them spent a great deal of time catching up on each other’s lives, from Roy’s therapy and policy-making to Elycia’s teenage drama, from international travels to Gracia’s part-time job as a florist. Her new husband was a professor at the university. They’d adopted three cats since Gracia didn’t want any more children, and they lived in a quiet home on the edge of Central, far from the chaos of the growing city. Hers had become a pleasant life. Roy felt in his heart that his old friend would be proud of her.

“Not to be rude,” asked Gracia after they’d finished their lunch and dessert, “but I have a feeling there’s something you’re not telling me. Maybe a secret reason you asked me here?”

Roy ran his fingers through his hair, groaning. “There never was a way to get anything past you, was there? You’re like my aunt that way.” He turned his gaze to the wilting flowers. The garden wasn’t half as lively as it used to be, as it could be with diligent care. “I, uh, wanted to ask you about marriage.”

“Oh?” Gracia raised her brow. “You realize it’s a bit late for that, don’t you?”

“Not with you,” he chuckled. Roy rested his elbows on the table. Bringing it up was difficult all of a sudden, and he felt sheepish, as though Gracia would chastise him. “I think it’s high time I settled down, but I don’t know how to ask the girl I love. I was hoping that if you told me how Maes proposed, I’d get a better idea of what to do.”

Gracia’s smile was warm and understanding. “Oh, Roy. This is about Major Hawkeye, isn’t it?”

Roy scoffed and rubbed his forehead. “Geez. Everyone seems to know.”

“Maes certainly did.” Gracia sipped at her third cup of tea, placing it in the saucer with delicacy. “My late husband wore his heart on his sleeve. It was never hard to tell what he was feeling. When he proposed, he took me out to a wonderful candlelit dinner and had a violinist play while we ate. He wrote me a poem and recited it before getting down on one knee. I still have it, if you’d like to read it.”

“No thanks,” said Roy with an awkward laugh. “He was a real family guy. I guess I’m not surprised he was so sweet.” He stared down at his empty lunch plate, knowing there was no way in hell he could ask Riza to marry him like that.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re going to propose.” Gracia stirred her tea, her eyes filled with care. “But you should do it your way, Roy. Seeking advice from my late husband is so like you, but he would tell you exactly what to do and how to do it for the best romantic effect, and he’d be wrong to do so. Each proposal should be unique to the couple. Timothy and I have a very simple love, and he asked me to marry him while we were sitting on the couch together. I believe Edward Elric asked Winry to marry him by reciting the law of equivalent exchange.”

Roy grinned and shook his head. “What an Edward thing to do.”

“That’s exactly my point.” Gracia reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “You need to find something meaningful for the two of you and utilize it.”

Something meaningful. Roy rattled his brain for an answer, coming up empty, so far.

“I know more than anything that Maes would be happy for you.”

“He would.” Roy’s thoughts were haunted by memories. “We ended so many phone calls by him pestering me to find a wife.”

Gracia giggled. “He always was a silly man. So nosy, too.” She retracted her hand to her lap. “I hope I’ve helped you.”

“I’m not sure,” Roy replied in earnest, “but I feel better having spoken with you. I’ve been so worried about all this that I haven’t slept well.”

“You and Maes are more alike than either of you ever realized.” Gracia’s expression turned somber. “You’re passionate like he was. I’m sure you’ll find the right answer, Roy. And I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

Roy smiled. Her words meant more to him than she would ever know. “You too, Grace. And tell that daughter of yours to call me once in a while, would you? It’s not every day your uncle’s the Führer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, Roy purchased another bouquet of flowers. White lilies, this time. Not for Riza. For someone else.

With Lieutenant Green as his bodyguard, Roy drove himself to the Central cemetery. He didn’t say a word as he crested the frost-coated hill and gravel path, through the lines of headstones for fallen soldiers. Moonlight made them shine. When he arrived at his destination, Roy brushed ice off the top of Hughes’s resting place, setting the flowers there like an offering. A prayer for peace.

Lieutenant Green took up a post nearby to give Roy his privacy.

“Hey,” said Roy with a wave. “Surprise. I know you love lilies.” Roy shoved his hands in his pockets to keep warm, looking down at the engraved name of his best friend. “It’s been a while. Don’t think I’ve come back since before my inauguration.”

Hughes did not reply.

“I see Gracia and Elycia are still keeping things tidy here. Some of these old bastards’ graves are all covered in grass and moss. But you’re still here, clean as a whistle. Lucky.”

No response. A frigid breeze tousled his hair.

“I, uh...” Roy cleared his throat. “I’m gonna propose to Riza. I’ve figured it out. The whole plan’s up here.” He pointed to his temple. “Even you’d think it’s good, you know. Not all marriage proposals need violins and poetry.”

Silence.

“I just hope she says yes. It’s been so long, I wonder if she even thinks of me the same way anymore. I know she loved me at one point, and we flirt pretty often, but I can’t help but worry. Performance anxiety, I guess.”

Nothing but the wind. Roy craned his neck to look up at the stars, twinkling in a midnight sky by the side of the moon. He bounced on his heels, thinking.

“I once asked how you could hold the woman you love with your bloodstained hands. Do you remember that, Hughes?” He closed his eyes, summoning that unwanted memory, if only to make his point. “I asked you how you could do it. Hold Gracia. And you told me that you’d do anything to be the man she loves, to swallow everything we did in that war, all so that she would be happy.” Roy crouched before the headstone, eyeing his friend’s name as though it were the man himself. “But I’ve solved the riddle, Hughes. You were wrong. Gracia knew your hands were bloody, but she let you hold her anyway. There was no need to hide.” He removed one of his gloves and pressed his hand to the frozen stone, exhaling into the winter air. “I’ll hold Riza with my killer’s hands, and she’ll hold me with hers. There will be no hiding from each other. And when we smile, it’ll be genuine. We’ll be happy, Hughes. It’s all I can hope for.”

Roy felt his throat tighten. Unable to say more, and feeling he did not have to, he stood upright. “See you on the other side, old friend.”

**16 DECEMBER, 1928  
** **CENTRAL COMMAND**

Months passed in peace. Riza had learned to enjoy Dr. Shelton’s company, her mournfulness over the loss of Hayate easing slowly over time. Her beloved Shiba had meant the world to her. Even so, his memory would live inside those who loved him, and Riza marched on, knowing how to do little else.

Weekly visits with Dr. Shelton had changed her. She certainly wasn’t “fixed,” if any one person could be, but it was nice to have someone to talk to. Someone sworn to secrecy, who would not judge or scold or betray trust. Aside from speaking of personal things, Dr. Shelton was simply a good person. Their friendship, while professional, meant something to Riza. That alone was enough.

Roy was working late on a Friday evening. Normally he would return to the mansion by now, the sun having dipped below the city skyline, but something had kept him at his desk, writing with a newfound tenacity. Riza glanced up as he scribbled something on his paper and leaned back, quite proud of himself.

“Are you doodling something obscene again, sir?” she asked from her own desk, finishing up her to-do list for the Welfare Bureau, which was set to open at full capacity come January. She had declined to lead the division, but her input to the board was crucial. “What is it this time? A dog? A boat?”

“An invitation,” said Roy. “A draft of one, at least. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Oh.” To what occasion, Riza didn’t bother asking. He would tell her sooner or later. Standing, she pushed in her chair and gathered her coat, reading seven o’clock on her watch. “Do you need anything else from me tonight, sir? Lieutenant Green can take over for me until you return to the mansion.”

Roy stared at her. There was something different in his eyes, something searching, something strange. He looked as though he was sweating. He pulled at his collar and scoffed. “No, Hawkeye. You can go home if you want.”

Riza didn’t seem convinced, eyeing his behavior with suspicion. “Are you sure?”

“Uh... not really.”

She raised her brow. “Not really?”

Roy groaned, rubbing his face, looking more like a boy frustrated over schoolwork than a political leader at his seat of power. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I have an offer for you, Major. A promotion.”

“A… promotion, sir?”

“Yeah.” Roy stood and turned to the window by his chair, folding his hands behind his back, the light of sunset casting him in gold. “The details are in your desk drawer.”

Riza didn’t move for a moment, wondering what he could be up to. Was he to make her a Lieutenant Colonel? Was it a joke? Riza wouldn’t mind the increase in pay, but rank mattered little to her anymore. So long as her goals could be achieved and Roy was safe, ‘Major Hawkeye’ didn’t have a bad ring to it.

She sat at her desk and opened the drawer. Inside was a manila folder, which she opened, seeing a small stack of paperwork and a foreign object inside. Narrowing her eyes, she shook the folder upside down over her desk.

Her grandmother’s ring clattered to the surface.

“Do you know what I hate most about being the Führer?” Roy asked from the window. “That damn manor. It’s huge. Beautiful, sure, and the staff are nice, but the gardens could use something new. Maybe a few wildflowers. Honeysuckle along the walls, you know. Tulips. Chrysanthemums.”

Seconds ticked by. Without a thought, she cried. 

Riza covered her mouth to mute the sound of her sobs. Hot tears drained from her like poison from a wound. Roy stepped closer and crouched by her side, pulling her hand gently from her face. Honey brown eyes were filled with emotion when she looked at him, tears dripping down her cheeks, all over the paperwork. “Hey,” he said with a frown. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Riza tried to assure him, to reflect her happiness, only to cry even more. 

“You look pretty damn upset.”

She shook her head. Embarrassed, Riza retrieved her hand from his to wipe her cheeks. She picked up the ring that had fallen out of the folder, antique and diamond and sparkling. “This was my grandmother’s.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes you do,” he said. “You’ve understood for a long time.”

“Understanding and acting are two separate things,” Riza insisted. “You could have any woman in Amestris. You’re charming enough. Extroverted and strong. Haven’t we been through too much to pretend to be normal?”

Roy sighed. He moved to the wall and grabbed an empty spare seat, dragging it over to sit beside her. He reached for her hands again, both of them this time, and she turned in her chair to face him. “I’m not your father, you know. I’m not the military. You don’t have to be anything more than yourself for me.” He squeezed her hands. “I won’t lie to you. The road ahead will be difficult. We have so much to do to fix this country, but there’s no one else I would have by my side but you.” 

Riza smiled. She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her. “Hang on,” said Roy. “I’m not done. I practiced this.” 

“Did you?”

“Of course I did. Look, it’s been decades for us, alright? It has to be perfect.”

They chuckled together. Roy brushed his thumbs along her soft knuckles and continued. 

“All your life, you’ve been devoted to other people. People who didn’t treat you the way you deserved. Even me. I’ve asked you to take on countless dangerous missions, and you did so without question. Now, as the Führer, I can finally offer you my full devotion in return the way I’ve always meant to. Always, Riza. Not that you need it,” he clarified. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of living alone. But I don’t think that’s what you want, unless I’ve been wrong all these years.”

A fresh tear rolled down her face. She laughed under her breath. “Nice speech.”

“You like it?” he asked with a familiar boyish smirk. “I spent the better part of two weeks thinking of all that.”

“You have a way with words.”

Riza looked over to the discharge paperwork on her desk, as much as she could see without turning the page. So much love had been poured into their lives, first by her when she’d grown a crush on her father’s new apprentice, then by him at some point down the line. Riza didn’t know when. By each other’s sides over the years, they nurtured their affections in silence, taking turns to water what had been planted until finally, _finally,_ it bloomed. Riza met his lacquer eyes with hers of warm brown. “I told you that I’d follow you into hell if you asked me to.”

“And you did,” said Roy. “More than once.”

“Mm.” She nodded. “I think we’ve seen enough of hell.”

“Yeah.” He wiped her cheek with his thumb. “Me too.”

Slowly, Riza turned to the desk. She grabbed a pen and flipped through the paperwork, skimming every line of her honorable discharge. She kept going until she reached the end. The Führer’s signature didn’t read ‘Roy Mustang.’

It read ‘Grumman.’

“Do you have any idea how long he’d been badgering me to marry you?” asked Roy with a grin. “I’m surprised he didn’t fire one of us just to make it happen sooner.” 

“You prepared this together?” Riza questioned. “Years ago?”

“He gave me the ring before he died,” said Roy. “I didn’t find the paperwork until I was inaugurated. He’d left it in the desk for me.”

A little smile graced Riza’s face. “That man…”

Roy stood up, returning his chair to the wall while her deft fingers turned through every piece of paper. Her pen looped over the dotted lines where she signed her name. Retired, officially, as a Lieutenant Colonel Riza Hawkeye. When she was done, she wiped her wet cheeks and stood straight as a soldier, offering the discharge form to her Führer. As Roy took it, she saluted him for the last time. “I accept your promotion, sir. It will be my honor to stand beside you.”

Riza’s final salute brought waves of deep feeling. Decades old. Roy Mustang, who he was and would always be, was the one constant in her tumultuous life. A life she could now share with him.

Roy’s eyes filled with a heat only the Flame Alchemist could muster. “Fuck paperwork.” 

“What?”

He dropped the packet on her desk, cradled her face, and kissed her.

Riza did not recoil. She grasped the front of his uniform in the balls of her fists, pulling him as close as she could. Roy wrapped her so tightly in his arms that her own were crushed between them. They kissed each other silly, kissed dizzy, working themselves up to the lovestruck fools they’d always been. Roy tasted like afternoons studying together in her father’s library, like the desert sun of Ishval and fire and the honeysuckle in her old backyard. Long nights lying awake wondering about each other, love letters never sent, second chances and promises and the purest integrity.

Between kisses, they laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof i rushed this so hard and i'm so sorry if it shows :/ i'm not pleased with how it turned out BUT i like what happened and i'm just gonna shrug emoji my way to the end  
> THE POINT IS THAT THEY MADE OUT  
> see you next week xx


	6. Eclipse

**27 MAY, 1930  
** **FITZLEY**

The sound of the train whistle muted Roy’s soft snore. He was such an infant when it came to trains, falling asleep minutes after they pulled from the station. His head rested on Riza’s lap, his legs sprawled out along the bench of their private seating. Riza smoothed his hair from his forehead. What an undignified position for a Führer.

The ride to Fitzley took hours. Riza supposed that was part of why she never visited, though there was little for her to come back to. Her parents were dead. She had no childhood friends to speak of aside from Roy, and the house she grew up in had been unattended all these long years. Riza wasn’t looking forward to seeing it again, seeing the state it had fallen to. Would it still be standing, she wondered, in all its haunted glory?

“Not gonna take a nap with me?” said Roy. He looked up at her and grinned. “I know there’s not enough room for me to hold you, but if you keep looking so sad, I might have to try.”

Riza chuckled, running her fingers through his dark hair. “I don’t think lying down here will be good for my back.”

“Probably not.” He turned his head to the side and pressed a kiss to the swell of her belly, where their rather unplanned little one had been growing for the past five months. Riza had never expected to become pregnant, but at 41, she supposed it was better late than never. “Is he still kicking?”

“He went to sleep too, I think.” Riza cast her eyes out the window to the passing wheat fields, glowing gold under the sun. Wisps of white clouds floated in a blue sky. “You should get up. We’ll be there soon.”

Roy groaned as he obeyed his wife, sitting upright, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. “Are you alright?”

She sighed. Of course he would notice her forlorn gaze, her sullen nature. “I’m not sure. To be honest, I don’t even know why this trip was so important to me to begin with. I’m sure there’s nothing left for us there.”

“We’ll find something for your garden, Riza. Don’t worry.” Roy curled her hair behind her ear and smiled, and it was impossible for her not to smile, too. He leaned in and kissed her sweetly. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

The train whistle blew as the engine slowed, pulling into the Fitzley station. With Lieutenant Green and a few security detail in tow, Roy and Riza linked hands as they stepped off together, causing gasps and excited chatter from the citizens around them. The visit of the Führer and First Lady to Fitzley hadn’t been planned or announced. Riza was almost sad that they had to move through the station with haste, unable to stop and appreciate how much things had changed.

The car ride to their destination was filled with nostalgia. Roy and Riza pointed out the car window to the old grocery store downtown that they would walk to in their youth, new shops and strips that had popped up over the years, stretches of farmland and lines of houses both familiar and freshly built. Fitzley was still a little place on the edge of nowhere, but it had grown since their childhood, the population doubling, infrastructure rising. Riza’s memories in her hometown weren’t entirely pleasant, but she still felt a surge of pride in knowing that it would thrive for decades to come.

The car came to a stop outside their destination. Roy reached over and took her hand in his, squeezing tight. Riza couldn’t bear to look at the house just yet. “Are you ready, Riza?”

She took a moment to collect herself. Riza rubbed her belly, centering her psyche as Dr. Shelton had taught her. Breathing in and out. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

Roy nodded and opened the car door.

The Hawkeye manor was in a sorry state. Windows boarded, weeds choking the now-dead and browned front garden, cracked walls with a broken wood door. Riza had thought that by selling her old home to the bank all those years ago, it would be rebuilt for a family worthy of its halls. Instead, it had fallen to disrepair and shame.

“Looks as old as I feel,” said Roy. A joke. Riza chuckled and shook her head. “Wanna see if we can find anything good?”

She nodded. “If you see any spiders, though, you don’t get to scream this time.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” he groaned in reply.

With care, Roy and Riza passed through the remnants of their childhood home. Though Roy had only lived with her for a few short years, they had always considered the place to be theirs. Long hallways echoed memories of Roy excitedly showing Riza his newest alchemy trick or her scurrying away from the study door, ashamed to be caught spying. The broken sink spoke of the times when they’d wash dishes or cook together. Four years apart in age, their friendship back then had been more a result of their circumstances and a one-sided crush on young Riza’s part. The reminders were sobering. How very far they had come. 

But it was not the house they had traveled to see. Riza turned the knob on the back door, and it creaked open when she pulled it.

Her mother’s garden had become a wasteland. Dead plants wilted and hung from the trellis. The honeysuckle had turned to dust. Even the bench swing, where they had read together decades past, was rotting and smothered with holes from hungry insects. Not a trace of beauty remained.

“Not like I remembered it,” said Roy quietly.

Riza sighed. “I’m sorry. I thought there would be something I could salvage by coming out here.” She wanted the gardens of the Fuhrer’s mansion to reflect the one they’d loved, the one whose memory had kept them going when all else seemed to fail. “I guess there’s no harm in starting a garden from scratch, but I wanted some part of this place to bring to the manor with us, if only for the baby.”

“I know, Riza.” Roy came to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pressing a long kiss to her temple. “Don’t give up yet. There might be something. Let’s take a look around, okay? You never know what could be buried out here.”

She smiled at him. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

The two of them, and even some of the security detail, began a hopeless search. To find seeds or remnants of flowers that Riza could trim was wishful thinking at best, but they made a day of it, drinking lemonade under the sun and sharing stories during their breaks. The new bodyguards who’d taken over for Riza were quite a lively pair. Along with Lieutenant Green, they made humorous conversationalists that whittled away at any grim memories haunting Roy and Riza’s dismal surroundings.

“Hey,” said one of the guards after a few hours had passed, coming up to Roy and Riza as they lounged under the sun. Riza looked over at the sergeant. In his hands was an old brown box labeled,  _ FOR RIZA. _ “I found this over by the shed.”

Roy sat up first. “Thanks, Sergeant.” He took the box in his hands and returned to his wife’s side, helping her sit upright. “Any idea what this is?”

“No. I’ve never seen it before.” Riza furrowed her brow as she studied the handwriting, leaning on his shoulder. “You can open it, Roy.”

Roy did as he was told. A letter addressed to Riza sat at the top, written in her mother’s penmanship. Curious, and with a pounding heart, Riza reached over and tore open the envelope, feasting her eyes on the letter’s contents.

> _ Dearest Riza, _
> 
> _ I do not know when you’ll be reading this. Bless Berthold, but I fear he won’t remember to give this to you on your eighteenth birthday like I planned. I won’t be there to see you grow into the beautiful young woman I know you will become. So I hope, my darling, that this letter can bring you some form of happiness on this wonderful day. _
> 
> _ Adulthood will bring you many trials and troubles. You will suffer. You will cry. But please, don’t be afraid of this pain. In the things you face, you will change and adapt, which will make you stronger. The world is yours for the taking. You’ll find your way. _
> 
> _ My advice for you, Riza, is to follow your heart in all things. When life terrifies you or leads you down a path you wish you’d never walked, your heart is what will steer you right. Trust yourself. Be vulnerable. Believe in your power to be resilient and stand firm, and chase your happiness. That is the key to a wonderful life. _
> 
> _ Memories are gifts, but they are also lessons. I hope you look fondly back at our time together, short though it was, and apply what little I was able to teach you to your life as it stands today. When you’ve grown old and grey, I hope you will examine your life as it came to pass and know joy in all you’ve accomplished through the hardships. _
> 
> _ I leave these seeds for you. Grow, my darling, as these flowers will under your care. _
> 
> _ All my love,   
>  _ _ Mom _

Riza didn’t realize she was crying when Roy pulled her into his arms. His own eyes were tear-filled, having read the letter over her shoulder. Somewhere, somehow, though the both of them had seen the face of God and survived, there was a sense of divine fate watching over them even here. The box held enough seeds for an entire garden at the mansion. A child squirmed within her, healthy and thriving. The summer sun, once eclipsed by the hand of darkness and war, continued to shine down upon the world below. All was well.

As Roy kissed her deeply, Riza found she didn’t mind sitting among the memories of the past, for the garden she and Roy would make together would be the sweetest one of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sigh  
> some things:  
> i felt really pressured to finish this. i wasn't feeling it and i haven't for a minute but i really forced it out and i'm so so so sorry for the low quality. this fic, and you, deserved better.  
> that being said, i still hope you like it despite it being absolute dogshit. i really do love roy and riza and they'll always have a special place in my heart <3  
> thanks for reading. i hope you have a good day and take care of yourself out in the world.


End file.
